


Infiltrated

by freckleslikeconstellations



Series: You're Broken and He's Beautiful [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, uni fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 75,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer should have been the time when things started to get better. The time when you got to spend long days with Mycroft as you tried to put what had happened in your first year of university behind you. But between meeting Mycroft’s parents for the first time, Sherlock’s jealousy at you staying in the cottage and not John, not to mention Mycroft’s increasingly erratic behaviour towards you, summer ends up being a very different time than you’d envisaged…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> So firstly thank you for joining me for this, the second part to the You're Broken and He's Beautiful series, and secondly thank you so much for all your support on all my stories! :)
> 
> This will be quite a small part with just two chapters, this first one from Reader's perspective and the second one, which will be from Mycroft's perspective, so I hope you will enjoy them both. :)

As you lie flat on your back in the middle of the lake you think that this is how Ophelia would have felt had she been real, mad and raw from everything that she’d been through. Though she, you muse, would have probably been too far gone in the mad department to really take proper stock of exactly how she’d been feeling, to be aware of every layer and every slight motion of it. Whereas you, feeling only slightly mad, at least for now thank God, are aware of how you feel much more intensely. Something that is both a blessing and a curse. But as you lie there wearing nothing but a white dress over your underwear and gaze up at the almost cloudless blue sky with the sun’s rays coming down so far that they brush against your face, you try to turn it into more of a blessing by closing your eyes and thinking back to that first night after that lovely breakfast where you’d not only danced with Mycroft but watched your friends dance together too. For perhaps by doing so you’ll be able to get everything clearer in your mind and even work out what you should have done instead of what you _did_ do…

 

Moriarty had been over you once more, but that time it had been different from all the other dreams you’d had. That time when Moriarty had thrusted in and out of you, whilst your whole body crawled with revulsion and you’d cried out loud as tears had streamed down your face he’d whispered, “Tick,” as he’d gone further inside you and “Tock,” as he’d drawn back out. And the constant rhythm of him as he’d said those words and moved in and out of you had made your sobs more fervent and your breaths even more ragged until you’d felt like you could barely breathe, and then as everything in the nightmare had gone black you’d woken up with a start and sat bolt upright as a shout of horror had left your lips. And you’d only become aware of the fact that the light was on in your room and the fact that Mycroft had been sat on your bed, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt over his white vest and a pair of hastily done up black trousers, as he’d watched you out of concerned eyes, whilst Sherlock had stood by the door in his dressing gown, before you’d pushed your head against Mycroft’s shoulder. Then he’d held you tightly in his arms and you’d heard Sherlock leaving and shutting the door behind him to give you more privacy a moment later, and that is the last thing you’d known before your sobs had come in earnest. And then you’d pushed your head hard against Mycroft’s shoulder as if by doing so you might be able to bury yourself inside it completely and be forever protected from any more nightmares, and he’d let out a little breath at the force of you, before he’d held onto your back with firmer hands. 

 

Then as a flash of you dancing together that morning had come back to you and you’d remembered how happy you’d felt, not to mention how hopeful, and had you really said those stupid words to Mycroft about how you’d felt like everything would be all right? You couldn't help but feel naïve and so, so very silly, and you’d needed him to know so you’d pulled your head back from him a little, enough to see that his blue eyes were alight with concern and sorrow for you, and enough for him to be able to lift a finger and trail it down the side of your face, and it had slipped against a strand of your hair, before it had brushed against your cheek. Then you’d said, “It’s not over, it’s not okay,” in a bit of a gasp, before words had failed you and you’d gone back to crying against his shoulder once more. 

 

“But it will be,” he’d murmured against your ear, before he’d rubbed at your back with his large hands and ducked his head down so that he might place a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

 

Yet, so soon after your nightmare, you hadn't been able to be convinced of such a fact, and so you’d wriggled away from him until his hands had been forced to go to your shoulders and he’d been holding you at arms length. 

 

Then, as you’d shaken your head dismissively, you hadn't been able to help but ask, “But what if it won’t be?” before you’d looked off to the side and made to pick at a loose thread on the duvet. 

 

And you’d been able to tell that Mycroft hadn't known what to say to you or how to deal with you in that moment and you hadn't been able to feel anything but a stab of anger with yourself again for putting him through such things. For he should have only been worrying about his exams then, he shouldn't have had to worry about you, and he should have been looking forward to the summer holidays without fretting about how he’d tell Mummy about how he’d invited you like he’d no doubt been, or worrying about being lumbered with you for the whole summer and how he might entertain you for all of that time. 

 

But then he’d ran his hand down from your shoulder and across your arm thoughtfully, whilst his eyes had followed his hands progress all the time, before he’d finally grasped hold of your hand with his. And you’d looked up at him again as he’d done so. 

 

Then, “Do you trust me?” he’d asked you quietly. 

 

And though you’d known the answer to such a question at once you hadn't known what to make of his sudden question. So for a moment you’d just stared at him uncertainly and taken in his steady, even gaze as you’d done so. Then, “O-Of course,” you’d replied, for truth be told you probably trusted him more than you trusted yourself in that moment. 

 

And, “Then trust me when I say that in time all of this will be behind you. And that one day you won’t have to wake up like this and aside from the very rare occasion you won’t have to think about it at all,” Mycroft had told you sincerely. 

 

And for a moment, whilst you’d wondered if a day like that would ever truly come, you’d just stared at him uncertainly and bitten at your lip. But he’d had that steady gaze on him still. So finally, and because you’d known that you’d have to at least hope that such a day would come, for hope in that direction was the only thing you had after all, you’d nodded. And, feeling encouraged by your response, he’d placed a delicate finger underneath your chin so that he could draw you forwards and kiss you on the forehead. 

 

Then, “Why don’t you lie back down?” he’d asked you gently as he’d got up off the bed. 

 

Yet, before you’d followed such a suggestion you’d stretched out a hand. Then, when he’d stepped obligingly forwards and allowed you to take the tips of his fingers on one hand with your own, you’d lied back down and pulled him closer to you as you’d done so. 

 

And you could tell that he’d barely been breathing as you’d asked him, “Will you stay a while?” 

 

Yet, “Of course,” he’d murmured, before he’d sat down on the floor, and you’d let go of his hand as he’d done so, before you’d turned so that you’d been on your side facing him. Then he’d ran a light hand across the top of your hair and down the side of your face, whist his eyes had flicked between the movement of his hand and your face, before they’d come to fix on your face completely, and his lips had begun to part and his eyebrows had risen as he’d done so. And _your_ lips had started to part too because the way he’d been looking at you…well it had been all full of wonder and you’d thought that if he carried on looking at you like that then there’d be only one direction in which things could have gone, which was with his lips on yours. But then a flicker of something had crossed over his eyes and he’d breathed rapidly for a moment, before he’d drawn back a little and pulled his hand away. And you’d felt a stab of both disappointment and anger with yourself again. For you’d sensed that the only reason Mycroft hadn't kissed you was because he’d thought that it wasn't an appropriate time. And once more you’d felt like he shouldn't be going through this, and like the only reason he should be coming into your room late at night was in order to begin to explore the more pleasurable aspects of your relationship together and not because you needed comforting once more after a nightmare. But then, “You should try and go back to sleep,” he’d told you, so you’d come out of your thought to focus fully on what he was saying to you. Then, “But before you do,” he’d added, “I’d like it if you could promise me something.”

 

So, “What?” you’d asked him softly, whilst you’d eyed him curiously. 

 

And he’d just swallowed for a moment. Then, “If you have more nightmares”- he’d begun gravely. 

 

But, “ _When_ I have more,” you couldn't help but interrupt him bitterly, before as you’d felt like crying again you’d bowed your head so that you could look rather stubbornly at the duvet instead of at him. 

 

And he’d let out a soft sigh that was as full of sadness as much as it had been of despair, before he’d put a gentle hand underneath your chin so that he could tilt it up and get you to look at him once more. Then, once you had been, he’d let go of you again, before he’d said, “ _When_ you have more,” a little reluctantly in acknowledgement of the truth of your words, and then he’d gone on, “If you wake up and I'm not with you already then I’d like it if you could come downstairs and get me. Then we could come back here and I could stay with you a while like I am tonight, o-or whatever…” before he’d trailed off and looked at you most earnestly. 

 

Yet, “I'm not going to wake you up every night,” you’d told him, whilst you’d grasped at his hand again and toyed with his fingers, though there had been a small but hesitant smile on your face nonetheless because of the sweet gesture that he’d been trying to make for you. 

 

But, “Promise me F/N,” he’d ordered you insistently, not taking no for an answer. 

 

So you’d stared at him for another moment, and then when you’d seen from his face how important it was to him that you should wake him and not try to deal with things alone you’d relented, “Okay,” softly. 

 

And, “Thank you,” he’d breathed in relief with a bit of a nod. But then, rather than saying anything more about the matter he’d just said, “Go back to sleep F/N,” in a more gentle tone. 

 

So you’d nodded a little sleepily at him, and then unable to resist he’d run his hand through your hair one more time. And it had been a gesture that had made you smile as you’d closed your eyes once more. 

 

In the present now however you blink a little as you open your eyes and take in the strong sunlight that surrounds you once more. Then you remember how when you’d woken after that night Mycroft hadn't been with you, having no doubt retreated back into his own bedroom once you’d fallen asleep. And you remember how you’d both felt relieved that he hadn't spent the night sleeping on the floor in a cramped, awkward position because of you and disappointed that he hadn't been there and that he hadn't taken it upon himself to crawl into bed beside you and hold you comfortingly in his arms. Then you remember how Molly had walked into your room a moment later.

 

“Hi F/N,” she’d said gently, as she’d hesitated a moment by the door, before when you’d attempted to sit up a little groggily she’d hurried in a little more and said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to get up,” whilst she’d raised her hands placatingly. 

 

But you’d sat up anyway, propped up your pillow behind you and pulled your duvet up a little as you’d done so. Then you’d watched as she’d pulled the chair that had been by your desk across so that she could sit beside you, before you’d looked at her a little tentatively as her eyes had met with yours.

 

And for a moment she hadn't seemed to know what to say. Or perhaps she’d just been wondering if she should say what she’d really wanted to. But, whatever the case, in the next moment she’d said, “Mycroft mentioned at breakfast that you had a bit of a nightmare last night so I just wanted to come and check that you’re all right and ask if you wanted to have breakfast in bed today?” 

 

But, “No, that’s all right thank you,” you’d told her, and you’d smiled a little at her kindness to you, before your face had turned more serious as the memory of the nightmare had washed over you once more. Then you’d swallowed. 

 

And Molly, as she’d seen the change in you, had taken your hand in hers upon the top of the duvet, before she’d asked, “It was about Moriarty wasn't it?” cautiously, whilst you’d stared down at the sight of her hand upon yours. It had been an odd sight; you remembered thinking, and one that you hadn't been used to.

 

And you’d nodded but you hadn't said anything. For you hadn't wanted to think about it too much in that moment with Molly so close beside you, but more than that you hadn't known how you could explain it to her.

 

Yet in the next moment Molly had blurted out, “Oh God, why didn't you just come out with what was going on F/N? Why on earth did you try and keep it all to yourself and not let us help you?” because despite the fact that she’d known that Mycroft and even Greg would probably disapprove of her doing so she just hadn't been able to keep everything inside of her any more. 

 

But it had been too soon for you to be having such conversations and you’d felt a prickle of anger at the fact that she’d just asked such a thing. So you’d told her, “Because you wouldn't have believed me,” with a bit of an edge to your tone, before you’d gone on, “And even if I’d wanted to I don’t think you would have even given me the opportunity to say anything to you,” and you’d pulled your hand away from hers then. 

 

Yet Molly had flinched at the truth of your words, whilst at you pulling your hand away she’d just seemed to become even more flustered and both of her hands had flapped towards yours again, before they’d stilled helplessly when you’d shoved both of your hands underneath the duvet so that they would be out of her reach. Then she’d blurted out, “Oh my God, I was-I was so hurt F/N,” and you’d stared at her steadily, before you’d listened as she’d gone on, “I thought that you’d just been after Moriarty the whole time, I even started to wonder if you’d just been pretending to be my friend and if you’d only been pretending to be interested in Mycroft so that I wouldn't get suspicious.” And then when you’d opened your mouth to protest she’d gone on hurriedly, “Of course I don’t think that now, but I couldn't help but wonder about it then, I was so hurt after all,” and you’d swallowed and taken a bit of a breath. 

 

Then after another moment’s thought you’d begun to confess, “I thought we were such good friends,” whilst your eyes had stared down hard at the duvet rather than looking at her. And then when you’d heard her let out a little breath as she’d no doubt begun to wonder if things had become too irreversible for you to ever be proper friends again you’d gone on, “I thought we were such good friends that I thought…I _thought_ , well, that when Moriarty first told me of what he intended to do, when he said that no one would believe me if I told them what was going on, that no one would believe I didn't want him in that way, especially not you, after the way I’d acted whenever he had dinner with us and such”-

 

“And that’s exactly it F/N,” Molly had told you as you’d looked up at her, “Because of the way you acted when we first saw him and how odd you seemed to become whenever he was around I convinced myself that you were jealous and that you’d just been in love with him this whole time.” And then, “I'm not blaming you for acting like that, I get why you acted like that now,” she’d added hurriedly when she’d seen your eyes flash, and then there had been a brief pause, before she’d gone on a little hesitantly, “After Mycroft came out of hospital it took him days before he’d discuss even a little about what had really happened at the pool with anyone,” and your body had stiffened at her words. “Then finally Sherlock got a rough account of what had happened out of him and then Sherlock told me and Greg afterwards about what Moriarty did when you were young”- she’d said, and your body had been so tense and rigid by that point that you’d barely been breathing as part of you had, even then, been waiting for her to turn against you-“And oh my God F/N, I just can’t believe how _anyone_ could be so cruel,” she’d gone on, before at the look on your face she’d added hurriedly, “I do believe it though, I really do, please don’t think that I think you’re lying because I don’t, I just wish you’d been able to tell us about it, I mean I get why you couldn't”-

 

But, “He was clever,” you’d interrupted her bitterly as soon as she’d started to ramble. 

 

And she hadn't known what to say to that so she’d just looked unhappy, before she’d swallowed. 

 

Yet a moment later, after you’d watched her carefully for a moment, you’d gone on in a bit of a choked voice, “It was punishment, him raping me, for not standing by him before when he did”- and you’d let out a sharp breath then, and Molly had let out an, _‘Oh God F/N,’_ before you’d concluded, “When he did _that_ ,” and your body had shaken and Molly had looked completely helpless as she’d watched you. But then, as you’d gone back to what you’d originally been trying to tell Molly you’d said, “I knew, I thought that was how it would look, that it would look like I’d just been jealous and that you wouldn't believe me, _he_ made me see that was how it would look,” and tears had shone in Molly’s eyes, for no doubt she was struggling to even imagine what you’d been through. Then you’d swallowed, before you’d gone on a little more unsteadily, “But part of me, part of me wanted to believe that you would, that because we were friends you wouldn't believe what appeared to be right so readily and that you’d understand that I'm not that person and that something wasn't right”- and too choked up to continue you’d broken off then, before you’d drawn your knees up to your chest and buried your head in them. 

 

And, “Oh God F/N, oh God I wish I had,” Molly had blurted out frantically, before she’d half got up and pulled you sideways towards her, and for a moment you’d been stiff and resistant to her touch because you could have really done with her support for months after all. Yet as if she’d read your mind she’d uttered desperately, “Just let me be here now, please just let me be here now,” and a ragged kind of sob had escaped your lips as you’d succumbed to her touch. Then you’d turned towards her a little more and the duvet had slid down you as she’d hugged you fiercely, whilst her hands had been firm and solid as they’d stilled upon you. 

 

And then you’d pulled away from her a little, and you must have looked a right mess because your hair had been all unbrushed and wild, tears had been streaming down your face and your nose had been running, whilst strands of spit had clung to your lips as you’d exclaimed, “I was so ashamed,” and then, “I still am,” you’d confessed desperately. 

 

But, “Oh God F/N you've got nothing to be ashamed about,” Molly had begun, as she’d rubbed at your shoulders, before she’d added, “ _I'm_ the one who should be ashamed”-

 

Yet as you’d wanted to suddenly make her feel better because you’d known that you’d been a bit hard on her earlier you’d shaken your head and said, “I know why you did it, I just…” before you’d trailed off. 

 

But she’d picked up where you’d left off when she’d said, “We were both hurting so much, I don’t think either of us realized just how much the other was hurting at the time.”

 

And, “He played us all,” you’d told her with a bit of a sniff then.

 

So, “He did,” she’d agreed, before she’d added with more vigour, “But we’re not going to let him do it again, I won’t let him rip us apart so easily, and we’re going to be there for each other. I'm going to help you get through all this and you’re going to help me tell Greg off if he makes too many of his silly jokes,” and you’d let out a bit of a watery laugh then, which had made Molly smile for a moment, before she’d become more serious as she’d looked away from you to see how she could comfort you further.

 

Then when she’d spotted the handkerchief that Mycroft had given you neatly folded on top of your bedside cabinet she’d picked it up and handed it to you with the words, “Here, wipe your eyes on this.”

 

And you’d done so for a moment, taking comfort from doing such a thing. Then you’d sniffed, “I'm glad that Greg and you got together,” in a choked up kind of way as you held the handkerchief in your hand. 

 

And, “I'm glad that you finally got together with Mycroft,” she’d said, which had made you smile a bit more. Then she’d added softly, “I think you’ll be very good for each other,” with a bit of a smile as she’d spotted the initials on the handkerchief. And as you’d followed her gaze you’d let out a bit of a watery gurgle so, “Just focus on all the happy times that you’ll surely have with Mycroft now and on getting better,” she’d told you, and you’d let out a bit of a breath, before you’d nodded and swallowed. Then she’d smiled at you a bit encouragingly, before she’d said, “Come here,” and pulled you into her arms, and the handkerchief had slid out of your hand and onto the duvet as she’d done so. 

 

Yet a moment later you’d drawn hurriedly away from each other again when you’d heard the soft sound of someone as they opened your bedroom door. And then when your eyes had darted to the door and you’d seen that it was Mycroft hesitantly entering, whilst his eyes fixed on you, you’d turned your head hurriedly away so that he wouldn't be able to see what a mess you looked like. 

 

But at your act Mycroft had clearly only felt more concerned for you rather than deterred as he’d asked, “Is everything all right?” whilst he’d forced his eyes away from you and onto Molly. 

 

Yet his words hadn't made you look at him. And instead you’d still looked stubbornly away from him, whilst you’d swiped at your face-you’d forgotten about the handkerchief completely in your flustered state-and tried to make yourself look a bit more decent. So it had been left for Molly to tell him, “Yes, we’re just having a bit of a moment that’s all,” and her voice had been somewhere in between being gentle and hard. 

 

And, _“Oh,”_ Mycroft had uttered, and then, not knowing what he should further say or do his eyes had gone back to you. 

 

Yet before anything more had been said or done by anyone in the room another voice had come, that time from the hallway, and, “ _See?”_ it had called in rather a waspish tone, “I told you that you shouldn't have gone blustering in there, but _oh no_ , you simply couldn't keep away from F/N for five minutes,” the voice had finished, and then Sherlock had walked in a moment later with a bit of a knowing smirk on his face. 

 

And Mycroft had flushed and turned his head so that he could send his brother a bit of a frown. But he’d quickly looked back at you a moment later when he’d heard a snort of laughter escape you. And then his face had gone from puzzlement to more of a soft, tender expression when he’d seen that you’d finally been looking his way and smiling a bit as you’d done so. 

 

Yet when you’d started to feel a bit self-conscious about him looking at you once more you’d said, “Sorry, I must look a mess,” as you’d ducked your head a little and averted your eyes. 

 

But you’d quickly looked up once more when you’d sensed him approaching you. 

 

And Molly had stood up and tugged the chair back to your desk to allow Mycroft proper access to you. 

 

Then once he’d been stood beside you he’d peered down at you rather affectionately, plucked the handkerchief from the bed and passed it to you, before he’d stated, “In that case you look a beautiful mess I must say.” And then he’d slipped an arm around your shoulders. So you’d leaned against him and placed a hand delicately upon his stomach, whilst a pleased expression had toyed on your face at his words. 

 

But that sweet moment between you had lasted no longer than a moment, before Greg had stumbled in. And he’d grinned a little when he’d seen all of you, before he’d commented, “If you’re going to have a party in here then you could have at least invited me,” which had resulted in you letting out a snort of laughter, Molly looking at him in an exasperated but fond kind of way, Sherlock smiling in a satisfied way and Mycroft doing the same, whilst he’d held you close to his side. 

 

And in the present you smile a little at this particular memory, before you let out a soft sigh. For perhaps if you’d paid deeper attention to Mycroft’s action and Sherlock’s words then you could have had a conversation with Mycroft at that point and perhaps stopped everything from spiralling out of control as it now seems to have done…

 

In the weeks that had followed that lighter moment you’d continued to have nightmares, sometimes waking to find Mycroft there and sometimes not, but apart from the odd exception or two the nightmares had always followed the same pattern: Moriarty thrusting in and out of you and repeating the same two words, ‘Tick, tock.’ And they’d always left you feeling weak and breathless, and if Mycroft had not been there to support you and take you in his arms, trying to calm yourself down in your head. But even the sound of the clock ticking as it reminded you that you were in the present and that Moriarty was gone, which you’d once found soothing, had done little, what with the new context of the nightmares to calm you down, and so mostly you’d just been left there, feverish and weak, until sleep claimed you in its arms once more. And the mornings after you’d had the nightmares where Mycroft hadn't been there when you’d woken up had always been some of the worst you had to endure because as you’d join them all for breakfast you’d see the hopeful look on his face shatter the moment that he saw you and realized that you hadn't had a nightmare free night after all. And he’d always take you aside afterwards and ask you out of thin, disappointed lips why you hadn't seen fit to wake him. To which you’d always replied that you hadn't wanted to wake him, before you’d hurriedly depart so that you wouldn't become too aware of the expression of frustration that was always on his face after such occurrences. And now you think that you should have probably taken more notice of that too and seen it as a possible indicator of what was coming. Yet there had been one instance where you _had_ woken him and your mind goes back to that now. 

 

It had been the night before one of your very first exams and despite all of Mycroft’s patient tutoring and all of his encouraging words to you just before you’d gone to bed that night you’d been feeling prickly and anxious all the same. Something, which had bled into the nightmare you’d suffered that night and which had made everything seem all the more real and heightened. And you’d woken up with a loud gasp to find that your body was tightly wrapped in the sheet of the bed and that your hair was sticking to your forehead because of all of your sweat. Yet still for a few moments you’d just tried to carry on as you would normally-untangling yourself from the sheet and taking a few sips from the bottle of water that you’d now taken to keeping by your bedside. But the darkness and the images in the nightmare, which had felt so real to you, had seemed to encase you in their grip still. So you’d got out of bed and gone across to switch the light on, thinking that might help, but for some reason it hadn't. And in fact it had just seemed to make you even more breathless as you’d become even more aware of the state that you were in and how much your body was shaking, and so, feeling like you desperately needed some form of comfort and wanting to be close to Mycroft you’d turned towards the door once more. But then you’d hesitated. For you’d known that Mycroft had an important exam the next day too and so you’d thought for one moment that perhaps you shouldn't wake him. Yet tears had begun to fall from your face and you’d begun to sob because you hadn't known much right then but one thing had been clear to you. And that was that you needed Mycroft desperately in that moment. So you’d stumbled out of your room, switched off your light as you went, and made your way downstairs. 

 

Then, when you’d suddenly felt cold, you’d folded your arms tight across your chest as you’d gone across to Mycroft’s room, before you’d slipped quickly inside it and shut the door behind you. 

 

You’d made your way across to his bed in the darkness and then you’d crouched down a little-becoming aware of his soft breathing as you’d done so-so that you could try and ascertain where exactly on the bed and how close to you he was. Then, once you’d become quite certain that he was a little closer to the wall than he was to you, you’d slowly and carefully pulled the duvet back so as to not disturb him, before you’d instinctively got into bed beside him, rather than choosing to wake him like you’d first wanted to. And your body had brushed lightly against his as you’d done so, before you’d shuffled a little closer to him. Whilst his body had felt so soft and warm against yours, and although he hadn't been awake and whispering comforting words in your ear, you’d felt comforted by his presence nonetheless. Yet your small movements as you’d moved closer against him had been enough to rouse him, and he’d made a couple of soft, jerky twitching movements against you, before he’d opened his eyes. And you’d been able to pick them out in the darkness like the soft beams of a lighthouse on a windy, stormy night. But then, as his leg had brushed against yours and he’d become aware that someone was in bed beside him he’d let out a soft yelp of surprise. So you’d said, “It’s me,” in as strong and as reassuring a voice as you’d been able to manage. 

 

And, _“F/N?”_ Mycroft had exclaimed in surprise, before he’d sat up with a start, clambered over you, and your heart had thudded in your chest for an altogether different reason than your post-nightmare shock when you’d felt him hovering above you with his hands either side of you. But he’d only done so for the briefest of moments, before he’d let out a small breath and then fallen into a standing position by the bed. Then you’d heard him crossing over to switch on the light a moment later and so you’d sat up in bed, ready to try and explain your sudden presence in his room to him, even though you’d thought that he’d probably be able to guess that you’d had a really bad nightmare straight away just from looking at you. 

 

Yet as soon as the light had been switched on and it had illuminated the room and you’d seen him standing there in his grey vest and dark blue boxer shorts looking a little bewildered, as well as a little flushed and oddly guilty too as he attempted to tug his vest down over his underwear, you’d found the words, “Will you hold me tonight?” tumbling out of your mouth, and you’d been surprised yourself at how needy and desperate they’d come out sounding. 

 

But although Mycroft had taken an instinctive step towards you he’d faltered just as quickly, before he’d run a quick hand through his hair, messing it up even more. Then he’d cleared his throat and averted his eyes from you, before he’d said, “I don’t think we should be making a habit of doing such a thing,” and you’d let out a little, sharp breath, and as his eyes had flicked to you again he’d evidently been able to tell that he hadn't said the right thing and that he’d been blunter with you in that moment then he should have been. For he’d hurriedly added, “You’re welcome to stay in my bed for tonight though,” and, “I can take your one upstairs if that would be all right?” in an attempt to make things a little better. 

 

Yet, unable to feel anything other than disappointed with him in that moment you’d just nodded without even looking at him. 

 

So, no doubt trying to make up for his faux pas even more Mycroft had asked you softly, “Do you need anything?” and, “I can get you something if you’d like.” But the only thing you needed was him, something which he’d already denied you access to, so you’d just shaken your head and he’d nodded a little jerkily with his eyes fixed on you, before he’d hurriedly made a swift exit out of there. And it had been so swift that he’d stubbed his toe against the door, whilst switching the light off, so the last thing you’d heard from him that night was the soft curse that had escaped him at doing such a thing. 

 

No apology had followed though like there had been when he’d done a similar thing before and another sob had escaped you almost immediately, before you’d slipped down and flung your face in his pillow to try and cover up your gasps. But still you’d carried on crying nonetheless. For all you’d wanted him to do was hold you in bed. You hadn't been asking him for a miracle and he’d done it before in the hotel after all. And not just that but you’d felt sure that he’d known how much you’d needed him in that moment and still he’d walked away from you. Even after all the times he’d scolded you for not waking him. 

 

And needless to say, no matter now bad the nightmares had gotten after that-and they _had_ gotten increasingly potent and more and more realistic to the point where you’d been left shaking and unable to sleep an ounce more after waking up from them-you hadn't woken Mycroft again. 

 

And still, as you dwell on the matter now in the present you can’t for the life of you fathom why Mycroft had acted the way he had that night. For apart from being a little stiff with you he’d acted perfectly normal that following morning. And his behaviour had been entirely normal when you’d next seen him after both of your exams had finished that day, seeming concerned as to how you’d thought your exam had gone and telling you that he’d be happy to look over anything that you wanted him to go over with you that night by way of final preparation for your next exam that following morning. And he’d been most helpful and encouraging that night too. Yet of course you hadn't really dwelled on the matter properly for more than a couple of days because your exams had taken priority and Mycroft had been acting so normally towards you after all that it had made you quite wonder whether you’d turned what had happened into something more than it really had been in your mind. 

 

Then finally your last exam had been a couple of days in the future and Mycroft would be finishing the day after you, whilst Sherlock would be finishing the next day after that and plans had been in place for you all to go to the Holmes household not long after-via Brighton of course for Mycroft and you, whilst Sherlock would be going directly there. And according to Mycroft both Mummy and Father were looking forward to having you, with Mummy in particular being very keen to meet you. And at the time you hadn't paid too much attention to such words, for your exams had been looming over you after all. But at that point, with them very nearly over with, you’d finally had more time to dwell on them and you’d begun to feel rather nervous about the whole thing. For what if Mycroft’s parents didn't take to you? Or what if you felt so out of place there? After all with both Mycroft and Sherlock being so academic it hadn't been a big leap for you to assume that their parents would be equally as talented if not more so, and frightful images of you sitting around the dinner table with them having the most intelligent of conversations and expecting you to contribute as you sat there feeling terrified had begun to come to you. So, one night, after dinner, you’d sought out Mycroft in his room and closed the door behind you. He’d been sitting by his desk running through his notes and with a heavy looking book stretched out in front of him, and worried that he’d be angry with you for disturbing him, for seeing him like that had brought back terrible memories of when you’d seen him in a similar state just after Christmas after all, you’d said, “Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you,” before at his expectant face you’d plunged on, “It’s just that I was wondering if it was still all right for me to be spending the entire summer with you and your family…”

 

And Mycroft’s brow had furrowed at that, before he’d closed his book with a small frown as he’d said, “Of course it’s all right.” Then as he’d seen the expression on your face he’d said, “Come here,” as he’d spun on his chair to face you, before he’d opened his legs so that you could step in between them. And then, “Tell me what you’re worrying about,” he’d commanded you with a firm gentleness as he’d taken your hands loosely in his and looked up at you concernedly. 

 

But you’d just bitten your lip and looked off to the side for a moment. Then you’d looked back at him, before you’d confessed a little uncertainly, “I guess I'm just worried about meeting your parents and them not liking me.”

 

And as soon as he’d come to see just how important this matter was to you Mycroft’s face had softened, before he’d lifted one of his hands away from yours so that he could run it gently down the side of your face. Then when his hands had fallen back down to grasp yours again he’d said with a small, soft smile, “I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening.” And you’d tried to feel encouraged, but still you’d found yourself feeling a little uncertain and troubled about it all. And seeing such a thing Mycroft had gone on with some amusement in his tone, “Mummy’s already been asking me a thousand different questions about you, and I think she’s already come to the conclusion that you’re a most intelligent, sensible and level-headed young woman,” and then as he’d held your hands more firmly in his he’d added more seriously, “Which you are.” And that had made you smile a bit, whilst your cheeks had felt warm at his words of praise for you. But then you’d had a sudden thought, which your mind hadn't been able to let go of. Yet Mycroft had read you easily so he’d just said even more seriously, “I haven’t told either of my parents about the full extent of what’s been going on this year. All they know is that we were both caught up in what was a near tragedy at the swimming pool and that your parents are no longer alive, and I won’t say anything more on the matter to them unless you tell me to,” and you’d nodded then, feeling more reassured, before you’d pulled your hand out of his so that you could run a careful hand across his hair. For at least Mycroft’s parents didn't know the worst thing about you, before they’d even met you. And Mycroft had smiled momentarily at you doing such a thing and closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Then he’d said, “They’ll like you F/N, I'm sure about that,” in a bit of a determined breath as his eyes had opened and come to fix on you once more. 

 

So, “Thank you,” you’d told him softly, before you’d bent your head so that you could press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then you’d pulled away from him slowly, before you’d turned around and left. 

 

The rest of the time between then and you both leaving for Brighton had gone smoothly if you didn't count the dreadful time that you’d had doing your final examination, which you didn't tend to, for that was the last thing you wanted to reminisce about. 

 

Yet on the morning that you’d been due for departure you’d found yourself in a rather sad, introspective mood as you’d walked around the dining room and looked rather longingly around at the whole place. For you’d already been getting a sense of how much you’d miss it. And when Mycroft had left his room to find you in such a state he’d asked you softly, “It really is home to you isn't it?” so you’d whirled around to look at him, and your fingers had trailed down across the table as you’d come to a stop, before they’d come to still as your eyes had come to fix completely on his. 

 

Then, seeing that he wasn't making fun of you and that on the contrary there was a most understanding look upon his face you’d felt safe enough to breathe, “Yes it is,” softly. 

 

And he’d smiled at you consideringly for a moment. Then he’d walked across to you and held you in his arms, before he’d murmured, “Well,” as he’d brushed a strand of hair back from your face, and then, “I don’t expect it to compete with this but perhaps in time where I live could also become a place that you’ll feel fond of?” he’d gone on. 

 

And you’d found yourself smiling instinctively at his attempt to cheer you up. Then, “I’d like that,” you’d told him, and you’d rubbed at his chest reassuringly with your hand for a moment, before you’d looked up. And then when you’d found him smiling down at you, your own smile had just grown. 

 

But it had been a short-lived tender moment between you both because Sherlock had chosen that moment to enter the room. And he’d pulled a bit of a face and folded his arms at seeing Mycroft and you in each other’s embrace, before he’d said with a bit of attitude in his voice, “I think I’d better tell Mummy that you won’t be coming in two days time after all.”

 

But, “We’ll be there,” Mycroft had replied firmly, as he’d half turned away from you to face Sherlock, but he’d kept one hand on your waist all the same. 

 

And Sherlock, unable to resist, had said in a clipped voice, “Not if you keep getting distracted you won’t,” which had made Mycroft frown and you smile a small smile, before Sherlock had winked at you. 

 

Everything in Brighton had gone smoothly though and Mycroft had been the perfect gentleman throughout it all, buying you breakfast and little snacks throughout the day, including an ice-cream that you’d eaten as you’d taken a walk along the sea front together after visiting your parents graves. And he’d even stayed with you every night until you’d fallen asleep, albeit sitting on a chair, before he’d slipped out to his room again. And for the first time in your life being in Brighton hadn't weighed you down with all the dark memories of the past quite as much as it had done so previously, not when Mycroft had been there acting as your constant source of light. 

 

But then it had come time to leave even Brighton behind and to meet Mummy, and you’d been anxious and fidgety for the entire duration of the train ride. Mycroft’s Father would be meeting you both at the station to take you to the house from there, and the closer and closer you got the more your hands had fidgeted and the more your mind had worried. And in the end you’d banged against Mycroft’s side so often as you constantly wriggled and changed your position that he’d swooped to clutch both of your hands with his, before he’d brought them together. 

 

Then as you’d looked at him with a rather sheepish and apologetic expression on your face he’d told you, “They’d be quite mad if they didn't like you like I do F/N,” and you’d flushed and swallowed and nodded and tried to take his words in. 

 

But then as doubt had overtaken you once more you’d blurted out, “Tell me about them. Are they as clever as Sherlock and you?” 

 

And Mycroft had tilted his head and thought consideringly about your words for a moment, whilst he’d rubbed at your hands in a rhythmic fashion. Then he’d said conversationally, “I suppose, and I don’t think Father would take against this point, but Mummy’s always been the most academic of the two. She’s written some books on mathematics after all”- and then when he’d seen you pale consideringly as the image of you trying to hold your weight in a conversation about mathematics around the dinner table had come to you he’d gone on hurriedly, “But they’re both quite ordinary, decent people really, so you've got nothing to worry about.”

 

And you’d nodded and swallowed and looked away and tried to pull yourself together. But still you’d felt that sense of anxiety there, and Mycroft, no doubt sensing that you wouldn't be able to calm down until you’d met his parents for yourself and seen the truth of the words he’d spoken just now had pulled you as close to him as he could, before he’d started to run a soothing hand through your hair. And so you’d smiled at him gratefully, before you’d rested your head down upon his shoulder. 

 

But by the time the train had finally pulled into the station you’d been sitting bolt upright, whilst your heart raced and your hands felt clammy. And Mycroft, seeing the state that you’d managed to get yourself into, had given you the most reassuring look he could, before he’d kissed you softly on the cheek. 

 

Then, “You’ll be perfectly fine F/N, now come,” he’d told you, before he’d given a short, swift pat to your hand. 

 

And then together you’d manoeuvred both yourselves and all your luggage off the train and onto the platform. 

 

Then, after a quick cursory glance at you to check that you were okay, Mycroft had begun to look around the platform as he tried to see his father amongst the crowd of people. 

 

And then, finally spotting him, he’d tapped you on the hand and nodded to a spot just further down the platform. Then, “Over there,” he’d told you, so you’d gathered up your things, whilst Mycroft had tightened his grip on his. And, “Come,” he’d urged you as he’d begun to make his way forwards. 

 

So you’d hurriedly made to stumble after him, whilst your heart had beat frantically all the while for you weren't as yet entirely sure as to whom Mycroft had been nodding at. 

 

But then, as you’d made your way further forwards the crowd had parted some more and Mycroft had sent you a quick look over his shoulder, before he’d come to a stop in front of a slightly shorter man than you’d expected, and who had looked, in his slightly crooked bow tie and blue and white sweater vest-and you’d wondered briefly if this was where Mycroft got his smart sense of dress from-like a rather eccentric Professor. And you’d seen in your mind a cluttered desk full of papers with this man standing above it, running his hands through his greying hair as he tried in vain to find the right ones. Then after jostling through the last of the crowd and taking a little breath you’d finally stopped alongside Mycroft who’d been stepping back after quickly greeting and hugging his father. 

 

And your boyfriend had given you a quick, tight smile, before he’d looked back at his father and said, “Father, I’d like you to meet F/N L/N.”

 

And as the man’s eyes had fallen upon yours your breath had hitched considerably in your chest, for you’d expected to feel like you were being x-rayed like you sometimes felt when either Mycroft or Sherlock looked at you. But on the contrary though you’d seen nothing but kindness in them and so you’d found yourself releasing your breath a moment later instead. 

 

Then, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes,” you’d said, before the two of you had quickly shaken hands. 

 

But, “Please just call me Edwin,” Father Holmes had said with a kindly smile at you, before he’d added, “I'm looking forward to having you stay with us,” in a gentlemanly fashion. 

 

So, “Thank you so much for letting me,” you’d rushed out as Mycroft had watched the interaction with a small but approving smile on his face. But then you’d cursed yourself as you’d thought that you should have probably thanked Mycroft’s father- _Edwin_ , you’d have to try and remember to call him Edwin-for such a thing earlier. 

 

Yet, “It’s really no problem,” Mycroft’s father had said, before he’d added, “But I dare say that there will be if we don’t all get home soon,” and then as you’d begun to look worried and Mycroft’s brow had furrowed Father Holmes had gone on, “My wife’s very much looking forward to meeting you and she’s insisted that we go straight back,” with a quick pat to your arm and a twinkle in his eye and Mycroft’s face had cleared knowingly but yours had only grown more worried. Then, “She’d got herself so excited about it all before I left that Sherlock had decided to flee for a little while to escape,” Father Holmes had concluded with another small smile at you and you’d forced yourself to give him a smile in return. 

 

But Mycroft, no doubt sensing that his father’s words were only making the state that you were in _worse_ , had said, “Perhaps we should get moving then,” and so you’d all slowly made your way out of the station, and Father Holmes, much to your gratitude, had helped you with your luggage. 

 

Then once you’d got to the car, a rather old, beat-up sort of thing much to your surprise, for you’d pictured the parents who sent their two sons off to university with china cups to be sporting something more fancy, but which was apparently, “Good for running around in,” according to Father Holmes, you’d opted to sit in the back with all the luggage, even though Mycroft had been quite happy for you to take the passengers seat so that you could be more comfortable, for you’d felt a sudden urge to hide.

 

The journey though had passed far more pleasantly than you’d imagined it could with Mycroft and his father pulling you into whatever conversation they were having in an attempt to make you feel more involved, and no doubt in Mycroft’s case, to attempt to calm you down before you met Mummy. And so in between talking and looking out at the increasingly rural landscapes, something which had both surprised you as you’d expected the Holmes house to be somewhere in a town at least, and thrilled you since you’d always loved the countryside, you’d been quite occupied.

 

Then, even more to your surprise, the car had pulled up outside a cosy looking pink cottage, which appeared to be in the middle of no where but from the journey you’d known that there was a village nearby, and a more substantial town ten miles or so beyond that. 

 

And obviously some of your surprise had shown on your face, for when Father Holmes had turned around to you he’d said, “We have another house in the city where we tend to stay for much of the time but we always come up here for the summer months,” and as an image of the Queen spending the summer at Balmoral had flashed into your head you’d only felt more worried. 

 

And Mycroft had cringed a little at his father’s words for he’d known that they’d only serve to make you more anxious. So he’d quickly said, “Why don’t we start getting the things out?” in an attempt to keep you more occupied. 

 

Yet as soon as you’d all gotten out of the car the front door of the cottage had been flung open and you’d just had enough time to catch sight of a short woman marching down the path towards you all, before she’d drawn you into a large hug. 

 

And Mycroft and his father had exchanged a rather amused; knowing look, whilst you’d rather awkwardly patted this complete stranger, who you were assuming was Mycroft’s mother, on the back, before your gaze had gone to Mycroft instinctively for help when the hug had continued with no sign that it was coming to a close any time soon. 

 

And Mycroft, sensing that you were feeling a little uncomfortable, and possibly smothered, had stepped forwards and delicately prised his mother off you with the words, “Perhaps it would be a wise idea to let F/N breathe for a moment Mummy?” so you’d looked at him rather gratefully. 

 

But then Mummy had just taken the opportunity to look at you instead and, “Oh Mykie she’s wonderful, wonderful,” she’d exclaimed with her hands on your arms as she’d gazed at your face, as if Mycroft had just managed to shoot and bring home a prized pheasant for dinner, and feeling both trapped and bashful, though part of you had inwardly smirked too at her nickname for Mycroft, something which you’d thought you must mention to him at some point, you’d swallowed and looked off to the side. 

 

And then, not wanting to be rude and feeling like you should probably tell her what you’d already told Father Holmes you’d looked back to her, before you’d said, “Thank you so much for letting me stay with you Mrs. Holmes.”

 

But, “Oh it’s really no trouble at all dear,” she’d told you a little distractedly, before she’d given you a rather considering look as she’d bitten at her lip. And you’d felt worried again for a moment. But then she’d swung you around until your hip had bumped into Mycroft’s and you’d let out a little breath as it had done so, whilst Mycroft had cleared his throat and blushed a little. And then she’d let go of you and taken the sight of you both in, and the sight of her doing so had made your breath tighten and your face flush with colour, before you’d swallowed when Mycroft, despite clearly feeling awkward himself, had put an arm around your waist reassuringly. And then, “Oh my you look so wonderful together, I’ll have to get a photo”- Mummy had exclaimed. 

 

But, “Maybe later Mummy,” Mycroft had interrupted her abruptly, before he’d told her with a firm sort of calmness, “What we could really do with now is to get all our things in the house followed by a nice dinner.”

 

And Mummy had given a little start at such words. Then as she’d come back to herself once more she’d patted Mycroft on the arm, before she’d leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Then she’d said, “You’re quite right of course, how silly of me,” before she’d turned to you and added, “You’ll have to forgive me for getting so carried away dear but it’s the first time that Mycroft’s ever brought a girl home,” and your eyes had gone to Mycroft instinctively, before you’d hurriedly looked away from him when you’d caught sight of the prominent pink tinges on his cheeks and the way that he’d looked like he was slowly dying on the inside from embarrassment. 

 

But, “It’s fine Mrs. Holmes,” you’d said as you’d looked back at her with as reassuring a smile as you’d been able to manage. 

 

Yet she’d just patted you on the arm, before she’d stated, “And we’ll be having none of that Mrs. Holmes nonsense either,” and then by way of explanation she’d added, “It makes me sound old.” Then she’d informed you, “You’re more than welcome to call me Violet dear,” so you’d simply smiled at her, before you’d watched as she’d turned and bustled off towards the cottage. 

 

Sherlock had re-appeared again just as you’d got the last of your bags inside the entrance of the cottage, and Mummy had just been about to show you to your room when Sherlock had volunteered to give you the tour himself. Something that had made Mummy falter in her tracks and made her look a bit perturbed by her son’s sudden act of goodwill, whilst Mycroft had frowned. 

 

And so once you’d accepted Sherlock’s offer Mycroft had suggested, “Perhaps in that case I could join F/N on this tour of yours brother mine?” as he’d put a loose arm around your waist. 

 

But, “You _know_ where everything is,” Sherlock had hissed, whilst he’d looked annoyed with Mycroft for trying to spoil his fun. 

 

And, “Yes, but just in case you should forget to tell F/N something of importance, or even try to _hoodwink_ her, I think it might be best if I accompanied you both,” Mycroft had said in a light conversational tone. 

 

And Sherlock had frowned even more at that, before he’d muttered, _“Fine,”_ with a great wave of his hands. Then, “You can come too,” he’d said, and Mycroft had looked immediately more pleased. 

 

But then as the brothers had just looked at each other for a moment Mycroft’s expression had turned into a cool one, whilst Sherlock had worn a scowl, so Mummy had told you, “You should be glad that you don’t have a brother or sister dear because this is what tends to happen when you do,” as an aside, clearly embarrassed about both of her sons behaviour in front of a guest. 

 

And you’d forced a smile at her, before your hands had begun to fidget together. Then you’d ducked your head as your mind had gone to your parents once more. 

 

And Mycroft’s gaze had torn from Sherlock at Mummy’s words to first look at her, then you, and then Mummy again. And seeing quite clearly where your mind had gone to he’d told Mummy quite firmly, “F/N’s parents obviously found her so perfect when they had her that they found no need to have another one,” and his words had made you jerk your head up so that you could look at him as gratitude shone in your eyes.

 

And Mummy’s face had softened a little at her son’s words, before, realizing how her words may have just made you feel, she’d looked at you and said promptly, “Please forgive me dear, I didn't mean to upset you.” But then, in the next moment and before you could protest that no she hadn't and say that everything was fine, she’d looked at Mycroft, folded her arms and asked him challengingly, “And I suppose you wish that we’d done the same with Sherlock and you?” in a sharp tone and with a glimmer in her eyes. 

 

And Mycroft had simply looked surprised at her words for a moment, before he’d smirked. Then after a considering glance at Sherlock, who’d scowled back at him with something rebellious and daring in his eyes, Mycroft had looked back at Mummy and revealed, “Yes, as it happens,” even though you’d all known that it was a lie, and you’d smiled a small smile at such knowledge. 

 

But although Sherlock had expected his brother to give such a predictable answer he’d still let out a splutter of indignation anyway. Then he’d asked, “Do you want to come on this tour or not?” 

 

So, “I'm all yours,” Mycroft had begun with some amusement in his tone, and Sherlock had pulled a bit of a face, before he’d spun around on his heel. 

 

And then as Mycroft had given you a bit of a wink and a smile you’d grinned back at him as you felt more at ease, before you’d both made to follow Sherlock. 

 

Yet the younger Holmes had taken you both to the bathroom first and unfortunately Mummy had been bustling past you on her way back to the kitchen when Sherlock had decided to announce loudly, “Here’s where the bathroom is F/N, and there’s a lock on it so please make sure that you use it,” so you’d flushed at once and wriggled a little uncomfortably, whilst Mycroft had shot his brother a dark look. 

 

Then, “How about we move on to where F/N will be sleeping brother dear?” Mycroft had asked with a wary look at where Mummy had now come to a stop further down the hallway at Sherlock’s words, before she’d chosen to bustle off on her way to the kitchen again, and as you’d followed Mycroft’s gaze you’d felt glad that she’d chosen to ignore what Sherlock had just said.

 

Yet something of the relief that you’d been feeling must have shown on your face for when you’d looked back at Sherlock all he’d said was, “She knows.”

 

So, _“What?”_ you’d exclaimed incredulously as you’d taken half a step forwards and moved your head closer to his. 

 

Yet before Sherlock could go on Mycroft had quickly jumped in with the words, “F/N’s bedroom brother?”

 

And Sherlock had given him a grim yet satisfied kind of smile, whilst you’d looked enquiringly at Mycroft. But Mycroft had simply shaken his head at you, and you’d spotted that his cheeks had now become a dark red, before he’d quickly made to follow after Sherlock as his brother had finally moved on. 

 

Your room had been towards the right of the cottage, and as Sherlock had pushed the door open and you’d gone past him and stepped inside it you’d let out a breath and instantly felt a little calmer. For the room had been light and airy with its pale yellow walls, which had light watercolours of landscapes scattered on them, not to mention with its windows that had been flung open, giving you a clear view of the sweeping landscape in the distance and the winding road that seemed to stretch on forever in its midst, whilst the bed in the middle of the room with its white sheets and duvet had looked very comfortable. 

 

And, “Is it to your taste?” Mycroft had asked, and having not heard him come in behind you, you’d given a bit of a start, which had made him instantly apologise, before you’d turned to him. 

 

So, “Yes it looks fine,” you’d told him reassuringly, before you’d smiled at the way that he’d looked instantly relieved. And then it had occurred to you that you should really have appreciated the fact that when he’d been trying to reassure you all day he’d probably been very worried about you meeting his parents too. 

 

And in the present you let out a soft sigh because now it’s so easy to see that, that’s just another aspect of Mycroft’s behaviour that you should really have paid better attention too. 

 

Yet in the past though Mycroft had said, “Shall we start bringing your things in here then?” and you’d nodded. 

 

So for a moment all three of you had moved quickly back and forth as you’d taken all of your things into your room, with Sherlock only doing such a thing after Mycroft had cleared his throat prominently when the younger Holmes had attempted to make his way back to his room. 

 

But then, once the last of it had been brought in and Sherlock had slouched out, apparently ending the tour, Mycroft had hesitated and smiled at you in a brief, awkward fashion, before he’d made to follow his brother. 

 

Yet you’d stepped forwards and hurriedly grabbed at his sleeve, pulling him back, and as he’d turned and looked at you again his eyes had darted quickly to your lips, before he’d let out a little breath. 

 

Then you’d swallowed and let go of him quickly and he’d cleared his throat and looked at you, before he’d looked away again with a bit of a blush on his face. 

 

Yet, even though, what with the way he’d just been acting he’d made you feel quite tempted to kiss him, you hadn't stopped him from leaving in order to do that, you’d stopped him from leaving in order to ask a question. So, not wanting to waste the opportunity, you’d asked him a little nervously, “Um, h-how does your Mum know about-about the shower incident?” whilst you’d run a flustered hand through your hair. 

 

And Mycroft had bitten at his lip and looked down at the pale carpet and rocked back and forth on his heels awkwardly for a moment with his hands in his pockets. Then he’d said, “Ah, Sherlock told her,” whilst his eyes had darted up to you again, before they’d resumed their focus on the carpet once more. 

 

And, “Right,” you’d exhaled, thinking that you probably should have known. Then as he’d looked up at you a little anxiously you’d gone on, “And what exactly”-

 

So, “She um,” Mycroft had begun, before he’d gone on quickly, “She just gave me a bit of a talking to and warned me that if I got anyone pregnant then there’d be trouble,” before he’d given you a bit of a tight smile. 

 

Yet, “Well I don’t think she has to worry about that,” you’d joked without thinking. 

 

And, “Quite,” Mycroft had said with a bit of a forced chuckle, before he’d given you another tight smile, and then suddenly you’d realized how he might have interpreted your last words and that he might think you’d been indicating that he wasn't that fanciable or something. 

 

So you’d grabbed at his arm again, before you’d told him quickly, “I didn't mean”-

 

And, “I know,” he’d told you softly, so you’d given him a bit of a smile. 

 

But before either of you had been able to say anything more the bedroom door had opened so you’d let go of Mycroft hurriedly, before you’d taken a quick step back from him as Mummy had entered. 

 

And the Holmes matriarch had looked in between you both steadily for a moment. Then she’d begun, “Now I'm not going to have many rules whilst you’re both under my roof together over the summer,” and both Mycroft and you had flushed something terrible as you’d both sensed the direction that the conversation was heading in, before you’d both listened as she’d gone on, “But if you’re in either of each other’s rooms together then I'm going to ask that you keep the door open at all times”-

 

And, _“Mummy,”_ Mycroft had spluttered, before he’d tried to quell her words with a bit of a pleading look. 

 

Yet, “Now Mycroft I'm not doing it to be cruel or to embarrass either of you, I'm just trying to be sensible about things,” Mummy had said with a pointed finger at him. Then, “F/N is your girlfriend isn't she?” she’d asked. 

 

So, “Yes, of course she is,” Mycroft had replied in a bit of a flustered tone. 

 

“Then,” Mummy had begun, and both Mycroft and you had braced yourselves before you’d both listened as she’d gone on, “It’s only fair to assume, what with you both spending the entire summer together after all, that at some points there might be certain _temptations_ , so that’s just me being clear on the matter.”

 

And, _“Mummy!”_ Mycroft had protested. 

 

But, “It’s fine,” you’d said, before either of them could say anything else, and then just in case she’d thought you were being abrupt or rude you’d followed it quickly with, “Can I help you with dinner at all?” 

 

And she’d given you a bit of a surprised, considering look for a moment. Then, “Well only if you want to dear,” she’d said. 

 

So you’d nodded promptly, before you’d turned and strode out of there, and Mummy had made to follow you. 

 

And thankfully the rest of the time up to dinner had gone in a distinctly less embarrassing fashion. 

 

Dinner had started pleasantly enough too with Mummy simply asking about your university course and Mycroft joking that she never seemed that interested in his studies, something which had made you all laugh and in your case made you feel even more comfortable. 

 

But then, before another conversation could properly begin Sherlock had said, “Can John come and stay here too?” and you’d been able to tell by the way that Mummy had faltered and pursed her lips that this hadn't been the first time that the matter had come up. 

 

And sure enough, “I've told you my answer on that particular matter already Sherlock,” Mummy had told him with a bit of a warning tone to her voice, and you’d begun to feel a bit uncomfortable at the idea that with perhaps you staying there, there wouldn't be room in the cottage for John too. 

 

But then, “Could you pass me the pepper please F/N?” Father Holmes had asked, seemingly trying to distract you from the other conversation that was taking place. 

 

Yet, ever a glutton for punishment and not wanting to miss anything you’d simply passed it to him with a quick politeness and a brief smile. Then you’d turned your head back and listened as Sherlock had said stubbornly, “I don’t see why space would be an issue,” before he’d added promptly, “John could stay in my room.” 

 

And Mycroft had chuckled at that. Then, “Really Sherlock,” he’d begun once Sherlock had thrown him a dark glare, “You’re acting as if we’re all idiots,” and then before Sherlock could say that you _were_ all idiots Mycroft had gone on, “Do you really expect any of us to fall for your little trick just so that you can get John into your room and do what you like with him?” 

 

Yet, “He’s stayed in my room before, I don’t see why”- Sherlock had begun with frustration in his tone. 

 

“But circumstances have changed now that you’re boyfriends,” Mycroft had interrupted him coolly with an air of someone who was much more knowledgeable about such things despite the fact that he really wasn't. 

 

Yet, “ _You’re_ a fine one to talk,” Sherlock had blurted out without being able to help it, and both Mycroft and you had stiffened. Then as Mycroft had given his brother a cold, hard look as if he’d been daring his brother to continue Sherlock had gone on with a flourish, “ _You've_ stayed in the same room as F/N before,” and then, on that bombshell, he’d shoved a spoonful of casserole roughly into his mouth. 

 

But then he’d quickly looked up again when Mycroft had spluttered out angrily, “You know full well that, that had nothing to do with sex,” and then at the silence that had followed his announcement, punctuated only by a dry cough from his father, he’d caught sight of his mother’s questioning look, before he’d looked at you. 

 

Your face had been flushed and you’d felt more embarrassed than you’d felt since Mummy had burst in on Mycroft and you and warned you both to keep the door open, and granted that hadn't happened that long ago but _still_ …yet in spite of all this you’d forced yourself to look back at Mycroft all the same. And then, when you’d seen what question he was silently asking you, you’d given him a curt nod, before you’d looked away again. 

 

So Mycroft had swallowed and taken your hand in his upon the table, before he’d gone on in a quieter voice, “F/N has nightmares sometimes, and, on the odd occasion, it’s true that she’s stayed in my room. On one of these occasions I slept on my spare duvet on the floor, whilst on another I left to sleep in her room upstairs so you’ll no doubt be glad to know that nothing untoward has ever occurred between us”-

 

Yet, “Not even in the hotel?”- Sherlock had begun sneakily, for he’d been determined to catch his brother out. 

 

But, “No of course not,” Mycroft had snapped, and his hand had jumped a little on yours and you’d wished that he’d let go of it altogether because rather than comforting you the feel of his hand growing ever more tense upon yours had just made you feel more uneasy. 

 

Yet, “I'm not talking about the past two days”- Sherlock had stated, just making everything worse. 

 

And, _“Sherlock,”_ Mycroft had hissed in an attempt to get his brother to shut up. 

 

Yet the damage had been done and Mummy had cast a cool, appraising look at both Mycroft and you-a gaze which you’d cowered beneath-before she’d asked her son, “Whatever does Sherlock mean Mycroft?” 

 

And Mycroft had opened his mouth, ready to try and explain it somehow, but the pressure had finally gotten too much for you and you’d got there first with the words, “It’s my fault,” and then in the next moment you’d swallowed when Mummy had turned her steely gaze upon you. Then, with everyone’s eyes on you, Mycroft’s hand still upon yours and whilst your heart had thudded loudly in your chest you’d gone on, “I-I, after what happened at the swimming pool, I-I've been having these nightmares, like Mycroft said, and I was feeling really upset about everything,” which is an understatement of course but you hadn't exactly been about to blurt the whole truth out, not when you’d got the feeling that if you had then your visit that summer would have been shortened considerably. “So I went back to Brighton instead of staying at university after I came out of h-hospital”- and you’d broken off then, for all the dark memories of that time, of how you’d felt so weak, mentally more than physically, and of how you’d been convinced that the only option for you was to leave everything and everyone behind had come back to you. But then when you’d felt Mycroft’s hand stir upon yours you’d snapped out of your thought and gone on, “A-And Mycroft was worried about me so he came to find me,” before when you’d looked at Mycroft and he’d given permission with his eyes you’d added, “By the time we’d finished talking”- and at that point Sherlock had harrumphed in a disbelieving fashion and Mycroft had swung his head away from yours so that he could give his brother a very dark look indeed-“It was getting late so we both went back to the hotel a-and Mycroft had his own room and everything, and he was about to go back to it when I asked him if”- and you’d faltered at that point because you hadn't wanted to tell them about that special, intimate moment between you both. You’d wanted to keep that for just Mycroft and you to know about. 

 

And it had been possible that Mycroft had both known and agreed with what you’d been feeling for he’d grasped your hand more tightly with his-something you’d felt grateful for in that moment-and said, “The point is that nothing inappropriate occurred.”

 

But Mummy hadn't been about to be deterred and so she’d asked, “What did you ask my son?” whilst her eyes had firmly fixed themselves onto you. 

 

And you’d swallowed and pulled your hand free from Mycroft’s because you’d known everything was hopeless and that you wouldn't be able to keep that moment between you after all, before you’d looked down for a moment. Then you’d looked up bravely and confessed, “I asked him, I asked him if he’d hold me”-

 

And, “In bed?” Mummy had asked, and the action of her doing so had made you flinch, before she’d added, “Whilst you both slept?” and you’d swallowed and bit at your lip for a moment, before you’d nodded. Then, “I see,” Mummy had said out of rather thin lips as she’d considered it all, and her reaction had made you feel both ashamed of how you’d acted and of that sweet moment. 

 

Yet Mycroft had tried, “It was perfectly innocent”- once more. 

 

But, “I’d like you both to finish off your meals and then after you’re done I’d like a word with you alone F/N,” Mummy had said, and you’d known that you had little choice in the matter so you’d just nodded falteringly. 

 

Yet, _“Mummy”-_ Mycroft had protested, whilst he clearly wondered if his mother talking to you was necessary. 

 

But, “I’ll speak to you later Mycroft,” she’d interrupted him in a firm tone that had made him wince. 

 

And that had been that, at least until Sherlock had asked, “So about John coming around then?” in a tone that had been both playful and serious all at the same time, before his mouth had immediately snapped shut at the quelling look that Mummy had given him. 

 

So dinner had ended on an uncomfortable silence, and when it had come to its natural conclusion Mummy had instructed Mycroft and Sherlock to do the washing and drying up between them, before she’d beckoned you to follow her. And you’d done so with some reluctance, but even so you’d been wise enough not to look at Mycroft for you’d sensed that if you had then you’d just have ended up begging him for his help to get you out of the scenario. Something that you’re sure would have endeared Mummy Holmes to you even less. 

 

Then after the both of you had stepped aside into the cool evening air and you’d folded your arms across your chest for extra warmth Mummy had said, “Let’s go for a little walk dear, that way we can talk and keep warm at the same time,” and so you’d nodded and followed her through the small gate. Then it had occurred to you that cold or not it might be better, what with Mummy’s mood the way it was, if you unfolded your arms. So you’d done so and they’d hung down rather awkwardly by your sides instead. Then, “Let me tell you something about my son F/N,” Mummy had begun as you’d started to amble down the road together, and you hadn't needed to ask _which_ son she’d been referring to, so instead you’d just tilted your head on the side to listen to her as she’d gone on, “He’s always been quite a quiet and introspective type, and no doubt you’ll have seen the shield that he’s capable of putting up sometimes and the distance that he’s capable of putting between himself and others,” and you’d nodded for of course you had seen such things. “Yet in spite of all this, underneath it all he’s quite soft, kind and gentle really, not to mention fiercely loyal and protective of all those he loves,” Mummy had continued and you’d had to smile at her words, for even though you hadn't known Mycroft for a year yet you’d got a sense of this already. But then, upon seeing your expression, she’d clutched at your arm to get you to stop walking, before she’d half-turned to face you. Then she’d let go of you and gone on more seriously, “That’s why, at the hotel, he wouldn't have wanted to disappoint you, and that’s why he would have gone along with what you wanted him to, even if he’d had his own reservations about doing such a thing,” and your whole body had stiffened at the suggestion that you’d forced Mycroft into doing something that he wasn't comfortable to do. But then your mind had gone back to the way that Mycroft had looked when he’d ended up half-leaning over you on the hotel floor and the clear nerves that he’d shown later when you’d made the suggestion of him holding you that night. Not to mention how delicate and gentle he’d been with you once he’d finally come to bed. And then you’d wondered if that’s why Mycroft had acted the way he had when he’d woken up the night you’d gone down and crept into bed beside him. If that’s why he hadn't wanted to hold you again…But then before you’d been able to think about it any more and consider that perhaps you _had_ unintentionally pushed Mycroft into doing something he wasn't comfortable with after all, Mummy had gone on a little more awkwardly, “I don’t want to be rude to you dear but I'm assuming that you've had other boyfriends before my Mycroft?” and you’d bit down hard on your lip at that point because you’d known that she wasn't really asking about the amount of boyfriends you’d previously had but rather the amount of _experience_ you’d had. And you hadn't been able to stop yourself from feeling angry and upset because if Mummy had known how much of the experience you’d had in that area just consisted of being raped over and over again by the same man and how you’d never had a sweeter or more caring relationship than the one you currently had with her son then you’d been pretty sure that she wouldn't have been treating you like this, and your fists had clenched and tears had threatened to spill from your eyes, before you’d forced yourself to nod. And she’d looked at you for a moment as she’d no doubt wondered about all the emotion you’d been struggling to suppress, before she’d gone on, “Well Mycroft hasn't,” and then, “That is to say that he’s never had this sort of relationship before you,” she’d clarified. And then, “I'm saying this as his mother and as someone who cares for him,” she’d begun, before she’d gone on, “I don’t want him to regret doing things at a faster pace if he’s not ready to,” and then as your lips had hurriedly parted she’d added, “You have to understand my dear that I want him to have it all in the end, marriage, babies, I really do, but that’s in the end and in the meantime I don’t want him to be foolish about matters of his heart.” Then, “Do you understand?” she’d asked you so you’d nodded. 

 

But then as you’d wanted to say more and at least try to make your intentions towards Mycroft clearer you’d said, “I don’t want to hurt Mycroft and I’d never want to make him do anything that he’s not ready for”- and then she’d opened her mouth, but predicting what she was about to say you’d gone on hurriedly, “And I'm sorry if what happened at the hotel seems inappropriate to you and even sorrier if it was something that he wasn't ready for,” before you’d taken a bit of a breath and gone on, “But now that I'm more aware, thanks to you, of how it might have been such a thing I want to assure you that it won’t happen again,” and she’d looked at you steadily for a moment. Then she’d nodded and you’d waited for a moment to see if she would say anything else, before when she hadn't you’d asked her with a cool sort of politeness, “So if that’s all then can I return to the cottage?” and then, “I’d like to start to unpack,” you’d added just in case she thought you were being abrupt or churlish. And she’d nodded then so you’d simply nodded at her in return, before you’d turned around and swept back to the cottage. 

 

On the way back though you’d felt angry. Yet you hadn't been able to help it. For Moriarty hadn't been creeping upon you at night apart from in your nightmares any more, but because of that one moment of weakness you’d had at the hotel where you’d wanted it to finally be Mycroft holding you in his arms as you’d fallen asleep, not Moriarty, and wanted to know what _that_ would feel like so badly, and because you couldn't tell Mummy about what had been going on she’d come to the conclusion that you’re someone you’re not. And if the situation hadn't felt so maddeningly frustrating and serious in your mind then you might have laughed. For there you were, finally having got together with the man you've been pining after and his mother, after not even knowing you for a day, thinks you’re a slut. And all of it, all of it led back to Moriarty and you’d been able to picture his smug and self-satisfied face if he could see you then, and so when you’d burst into the cottage from the back door you’d done so with a thud louder than you’d intended that had, had the door slamming back, and as a result Mycroft had nearly dropped the saucepan that he’d been drying with the dishcloth. Then his face had paled when he’d seen how clearly angry you were with your lips slightly parted so that they could let out small puffs of air, whilst your e/c eyes had shone with something dark. 

 

And, “F/N, what’s wrong?” he’d asked you, and there’d been a small frown on his face as he’d stepped towards you. 

 

Yet, “I just want to go and unpack,” was all you’d told him without even looking at him, before you’d strode out of the kitchen without another word. 

 

*

 

You hadn't been able to sleep that night. Not because of your nightmares but rather because your mind had been too full of thought. Thoughts about Mycroft and Mummy and what Mummy had implied about you pushing Mycroft earlier. And if it hadn't been the middle of the night then you might have phoned Molly and talked it all out with her so that your head could have become less of a muddle about it all. But then again, you’d thought, maybe you wouldn't have, because even though you’d quite like to talk to Molly about such matters you weren't exactly used to letting people in, and not just that but you wouldn't know where to start talking about this particular matter. Yet since it had been the middle of the night and the cottage had been silent and still you’d been left with no choice but to mull things over on your own. And so having finally grown tired of just lying there, succumbing to it all, you’d flicked the white duvet off you, before you’d padded across to the window and drawn the curtains back. Everything had been dark and murky, but then, as your eyes had raked upwards you’d let out a gasp. For the sky had been filled with stars. So many that it had made your head spin and your eyes gaze at them in wonder. For you’d never seen so many stars before. 

 

And then, instinctively, you’d torn your gaze away from them and let the curtain fall back, before you’d let out a bit of a frantic breath. Then you’d flung on a thin f/c jacket over your white nightgown after you’d found it in the dark and quickly padded silently out of your room. 

 

You still hadn't been used to the layout of the cottage however and you’d ended up banging against a chair and a cabinet and nearly tipping a lamp off said cabinet, before you’d finally come to the back door. Then you’d spent a minute or two fumbling to pull the bolt back, before you’d finally been able to step outside. 

 

And you’d shivered as soon as you’d done so for the night air had been cold, whilst the grass had tickled your bare feet and ankles as you’d gone forwards. Yet although you’d folded your arms across your chest to compensate for the chill you hadn't really paid it much attention, for the view, as you’d stepped further away from the cottage, had been spectacular and breath taking-the sky had been absolutely littered with stars- and as you’d stretched out your arms and gazed up at it all in wonder you’d felt the most free you’d done all day. 

 

But then a voice had said, _“F/N?”_ in a slightly wavering, questioning tone, and your heart had slammed in your chest, before you’d whirled around in a bit of a panic. Yet you’d let out a breath of relief a moment later upon seeing that it was Mycroft, as fully dressed as he had been earlier, standing there. He meanwhile had, had more of a panicked reaction to the sight of you when he’d exclaimed, “What on earth are you doing out here?” 

 

So, “I wanted to see the stars,” you’d told him a little defensively as you’d waved a hand towards the sky, before you’d gone back to folding your arms once more. 

 

And his eyes had flicked towards the sky and grazed against the stars for no more than half a second, before they’d fallen back upon you again. Then, “You could have seen them from the safety of your bedroom,” he’d told you. 

 

So, “It’s safe out here isn't it?” you’d asked him challengingly with a bit of a raised eyebrow. 

 

And, “Yes so safe that, that’s why you startled so much when I called you just now,” he’d murmured, and it might have been a joke had it not come out sounding so firm. 

 

And you’d frowned at him for a moment, before you’d confessed, “I just couldn't sleep,” more softly, and then, “I went to the window and-and I've never _seen_ so many stars before,” you’d told him, and then you’d unfolded your arms and just waved your hands at the sky for a moment, whilst you’d stared up at it in wonder again. Then after a moment of doing that your eyes had spiralled back down to fall on Mycroft once more, and you’d felt immediately more at ease upon seeing how his face had softened as he’d been watching you. 

 

Then as your eyes had met he’d started to come towards you and the words, “I couldn't sleep either,” had tumbled out of his mouth, before he’d confessed as he’d stopped in front of you, “I was a little concerned about what Mummy might have said to you, and I couldn't very well have spoken to you about it earlier because we would have had to leave the bedroom door open,” and then he’d pulled a little face as if to say that this was all very weird and unusual for him and he wasn't sure what to make of it all, before he’d run a hand through his hair. 

 

Then, as he’d taken your hands in his, it had been your turn to confess, “I think she thinks I'm the type of person who sleeps around,” in a soft voice, before you’d ducked your head in embarrassment. 

 

And he’d opened his mouth, about to protest, before, unable to lie to you and pretend that Mummy _didn't_ have that thought in her head, he’d breathed out, “I'm sorry F/N.”

 

But you’d just smiled at the fact that he _hadn't_ chosen to lie to you for a moment, before you’d looked up at him and blurted out, “I'm sorry if you felt I was pushing you into holding me at the hotel”-

 

Yet he’d just shaken his head for a moment, before he’d said, “I didn't then and I don’t now,” and then, when he’d seen the instant relief that had flooded through your eyes and how it had almost brought you to tears he’d murmured soothingly, “Shh, shh,” whilst his hand had gone to cup your cheek reassuringly and you’d released a watery sort of giggle. 

 

Then he’d swiped his thumb a couple of times across your cheek, before he’d let go of you, so you’d taken the chance to confess, “I suppose I can’t blame her really, not when she doesn't know everything and we can’t exactly tell her…”

 

Yet, wanting to make things better, Mycroft had slipped a gentle hand to your waist, before he’d uttered, “I'm sure in time, even with her not knowing everything, once she gets to know you more she’ll start to trust you with me more and understand that you’re not that person.”

 

And you’d given him half a smile, before you’d looked troubled once more. Then, “I hope so,” you’d told him, before you’d looked away from him again. 

 

And clearly not wanting you to dwell too much on everything right then Mycroft had taken your hands and swung them back and forth a little with his, before he’d said reasonably, “Why don’t we go back inside?” And then when he’d seen how reluctant you’d looked at the idea he’d added, “You’ll catch your death out here,” for good measure. 

 

So, knowing that he’d been annoyingly right, you’d taken one last look up at the stars and taken in one last gulp of the cold, night air, before you’d nodded and then made to follow him as he’d let go of your hands and turned. But although you’d known that he was just being kind and doing it for your own good you hadn't been able to help but feel a little annoyed with him for making you go back to the stifling warm cottage when you’d felt so free underneath the stars with no boundaries around you. 

 

And in the present you just sigh again now. For rather than being a one-off feeling, as you’d hoped it would be, that feeling of being stifled and trapped had just grown over the next few days as Mycroft had continued to fuss after you and make sure that you’d been all right, whilst Mummy too had not helped matters as she’d kept you both nearly constantly busy, before she’d seemingly appeared from nowhere whenever a nicer moment between Mycroft and you was threatening to rear its head. And it had only been a week after you’d first arrived at the cottage when, during an opportunity to go for a walk by yourself behind the cottage, you’d found the very lake that you were floating in now.

 

It had been after lunch and Mummy had been talking to Mycroft about something or another and Father Holmes had been attempting to finish reading the newspaper, wincing every now and again as Sherlock had banged away at something in his room. So, seeing the opportunity, you’d slipped out. You’d been pretty sure though that Mycroft had noticed you leaving and that his eyes had slid towards you as you’d made your swift exit, so you’d taken off as quick as you could through the grass, up the grassy slope and then down it and up another short hill, before you’d stopped and let out a little gasp of delight at the sight of a glistening lake that was just down the hill that you’d been currently stood on. Then as you’d felt a bit of weight lift from you, you’d hurried towards it, before you’d slipped your shoes and socks off and rolled your trouser legs up a little. Then you’d sat down, before you’d dipped your feet into the water, and you’d let out a little gasp of pleasure as you’d done so and immediately relaxed, for the water had been just the right type of cold and one that had caressed every inch and crevice of your skin in a most pleasant manner. And then you’d tilted your head back and just closed your eyes in the sun for a moment. But then, thinking that you should really use that moment to phone Molly, which was something that you’d begun to crave over the past few days but not had enough privacy to do so, you’d slipped out your phone from the pocket of your jeans and called Molly. 

 

And, “Hi F/N,” Molly had called down the phone cheerily as soon as she’d picked up, and you’d thought that she must have seen your number appear on her phone, before she’d answered it. 

 

So, “Hi Molly,” you’d said in a distinctly less cheerful voice than hers. 

 

And sensing trouble she’d said, “That doesn't sound good,” in a more even voice, before she’d asked you in a more sympathetic tone, “Is it the nightmares?” 

 

So, “No,” you’d blurted out immediately, before you’d corrected yourself a little when you’d added, “Well, I've still been having them actually but no, it’s not that…” and you’d trailed off for a moment to give yourself some more thinking time, before you’d asked her more tentatively, “Can I tell you something?” 

 

And, “Of course,” she’d said at once. 

 

“But, before I do you have to promise me that you won’t tell Mycroft about it or Sherlock,” you’d told her firmly. 

 

And she’d hesitated a moment as she’d clearly felt reluctant to go along with what you were asking her to do, but then, “All right,” she’d relented, so you’d let out a bit of a breath. 

 

Then, “It’s just,” you’d begun, before you’d gone on in a bit of a rush, “It’s just that I feel so trapped here,” because that had been the only way you’d been able to get it out. And then when you’d heard Molly let out a bit of a surprised breath at the other end you’d gone on, “And I feel like the worst girlfriend in the world because I know how grateful I should be feeling after everything that Mycroft’s done for me over the past year, and what with his parents letting me stay here and everything, but I just…it’s like every time I go for a walk or try to do anything on my own Mycroft expects me to include him in it all, and if I go for a walk without him then he acts like I've personally offended him, or like I've just rejected him or something. And I just feel like I can’t breathe because every where I turn there he is, trying to control what I do and when I do it, and I know that he’s only trying to look out for me and make sure that I don’t get hurt again but I just feel”- and you’d broken off then with a bit of a sigh as your mind had gone on the hunt for the perfect word. 

 

But Molly had found it before you, so, “Smothered?” she’d suggested. 

 

And, “Yeah,” you’d said as you’d let out a breath. 

 

Then there’d been silence on the line for a minute or two as Molly had contemplated what you’d just told her, and as more time had passed without her saying anything you’d braced yourself. For you’d been expecting Molly to tell you that yes, you were the worst girlfriend in the world and didn't you know how much Mycroft had done for you?

 

But when she’d spoken all she’d asked you was, “Do you want me to have a word with him?” before she’d added hurriedly, “I’d ask Greg to but he’s away in France with his family at the moment.”

 

So, “No,” you’d breathed softly, for this was between Mycroft and you after all and you’d known that if anyone should be having that conversation with him then it should be you. But then as you’d plucked at the grass with your free hand you’d tentatively asked her, “So what do you think I should do about it?” because at the very least she might be able to give you some good advice. 

 

Yet Molly had merely let out a bit of a breath for a moment. Then she’d said as reassuringly as she could, “Well, it’s only been a week hasn't it?” before she’d added, “And it’s only natural that you've been feeling a bit unsettled what with meeting Mycroft’s parents for the first time and getting used to everything”-

 

“So you think I should just give it a bit more time?” you’d interrupted her evenly. 

 

And there’d been a small hesitation, before, “Yes,” she’d admitted in one breath. 

 

Yet, “If that doesn't work?” you’d asked her, whilst your stomach had churned a little at the thought of things going on in the way that they were. 

 

And again there had been a brief hesitation, before she’d said, “Then if that doesn't work or you don’t think that it will in the first place maybe you should just talk to Mycroft about it and tell him that sometimes you just need some space for yourself.”

 

So you’d opened your mouth to reply and perhaps ask her how you could go about having such a conversation with Mycroft without it sounding like you were being horrible or ungrateful because you’d known that if you didn't do something about the matter soon then you’d end up exploding, but before you’d been able to you’d heard a yell coming from behind you, and when you’d turned and seen Mycroft haring down the hill towards you with his arms flailing as he walked quickly with an expression on his face that was both anxious and frustrated you’d let out a bit of a groan. Then you’d turned back to the lake, before you’d told Molly hurriedly, “I've got to go.”

 

And, “Okay,” Molly had replied reasonably enough, though she’d sounded a little surprised by your sudden departure all the same, and then, since you’d disconnected the call a moment later, that had been the last thing you’d heard from her. Then you’d shoved your phone hurriedly back into your pocket, before you’d stood up in a wobbly fashion just as Mycroft had come to a stop in front of you. 

 

But far from looking pleased to see you he’d simply grabbed at your arm tightly, before he’d said loudly, “You shouldn't be here, this part of the land doesn't belong to us.”

 

Yet, “You’re hurting me,” you’d said, which had been a little cruel of you sure because his grip, whilst a little uncomfortable on you had been more firm than painful. But nonetheless as you’d predicted his eyes had flashed in an alarmed fashion, before he’d let go of you with a start. Then, “I wasn't aware that the land belonged to anyone,” you’d told him a little haughtily as you folded your arms, before he could apologize and make you feel even guiltier for hoodwinking him. And then, “It was just nice so I came and”- you’d begun. 

 

But, “Who were you talking to?” Mycroft had asked, cutting you off mid-ramble. 

 

So, “Molly,” you’d replied, before you’d unfolded your arms and let them drop back down to your side once more. 

 

And, _“Oh,”_ Mycroft had replied, and he’d looked surprised by your answer, and your brow had furrowed a little because you were sure that you could sense some relief coming from him too. Then, “Um, how is she?” he’d asked a little awkwardly, whilst he’d shifted his position. 

 

And that question had just made you feel even guiltier, for you hadn't asked or talked about Molly at all. Indeed you hadn't even _thought_ to ask if she was finding it hard being without Greg. And you hadn't asked if he’d be able to contact her much, whilst he was away in France or anything like that. And some friend you were you’d thought. Yet not wanting Mycroft to know what a selfish person his girlfriend was you’d said somewhat dismissively, “Yeah she’s fine,” before you’d quickly ducked down so that you could put your socks and shoes back on. 

 

But, “Let me,” Mycroft had said, and he’d bent down too then so that he could assist you. 

 

But, _“No!”_ you’d snapped more fervently than you’d intended, before you’d felt immediately bad at the way that Mycroft’s eyes had flashed immediately with hurt as he’d flinched and then resumed a standing position once more. And you hadn't dared to look at him any more than that but you’d wanted to try and rescue the situation or at the very least attempt to make it a little better all the same so you’d mumbled, “It’s fine, I can do it myself,” and then you’d done so, before you’d made your way back to the cottage and left Mycroft staring after you. 

 

And in the present you almost feel like sobbing now as you remember about what had come after and how unfailingly kind Mycroft had continued to be to you even though you really hadn't deserved it after the way you’d snapped at him that day. 

 

For that night there had come a soft knock on your bedroom door. 

 

And after you’d lowered your book to your knees from where you’d been reading as you sat on your bed you’d called, “Come in,” before you’d swallowed and felt immediately tense at the awkward way that Mycroft had begun to shuffle into your room. 

 

Then he’d made to close the door behind him automatically, but there had come a cry of, “Leave the door open Mykie,” from Mummy as she’d bustled past him in the hallway, so he’d flinched a little at the tone of her voice, before he’d left the door slightly ajar and then fixed his eyes on you once more. 

 

And you’d just looked at each other for a moment and your breath had hitched in your chest in anticipation, whilst Mycroft had swallowed and fidgeted with his hands. 

 

Then, “I've been thinking,” he’d begun, “After what happened earlier”- and your eyes had widened a little at his words in fear, whilst your heart had increased its pace in your chest, “That if-if you wanted me to take you swimming some time then I could,” and then, “We could even go tomorrow if you’d liked,” he’d added. But then he’d said just as quickly, “Though I understand if you don’t want to, or if you think it’s a silly idea. I just thought…because you used to like it and everything, that you might…but it doesn't matter if you don’t want to…” and apparently running out of words he’d trailed off then. 

 

And you’d felt surprised at such words, for they hadn't been what you’d been expecting at all, whilst you’d been able to tell not only from his words but his face that he was afraid of you snapping at him again or rejecting the idea altogether. Yet in that moment you’d felt nothing but love and gratitude for him, and more than that you’d felt a great need to make up for how you’d behaved earlier. So you’d put your book aside further down the duvet, before you’d swung off the bed and approached him. And he’d straightened his position even more and looked even more terrified as you’d done so. So you’d been particularly gentle with him when you’d placed your hands delicately on his shoulders, before you’d leaned up to kiss his cheek. 

 

Blood had rushed to his face immediately and you’d worn a small and shy smile as you’d pulled away from him and whispered, “Thank you,” and, “I'm sorry about the way I treated you earlier,” before you’d ducked your head. 

 

Yet Mycroft had simply tilted your chin up a moment later with his fingers, before he’d pressed his soft lips to yours. And you’d stumbled against him for a moment, before you’d made a soft sound into his mouth when his hands had gone to your back to steady you instinctively, before they’d slid down to your waist. And the kiss, which had been a glorious release for the both of you after all the tension that had been between you earlier, had gone on for a couple of wonderful moments more. 

 

But then, “They’re kissing!” had come Sherlock’s horrified disgusted voice as he’d ducked his head quickly inside the room, before he’d hurriedly ducked it out again.

 

And Mycroft and you had pulled away from each other at once with a bit of a gasp. 

 

Then, “Oh for goodness sake Sherlock it was barely a”- Mycroft had begun in a bit of a snappy tone, clearly annoyed at having his kissing time with you interrupted. Yet he’d broken off when Sherlock’s face had re-appeared at the door. 

 

And then, “Mummy would like to see you in the living room Mycroft,” Sherlock had informed his brother promptly, before he’d given further explanation when he’d said, “I think she wants to discuss what she’d like you to help her with tomorrow.”

 

And both Mycroft and you had let out one little breath in unison, before you’d exchanged a look with each other, and one thing, that being the _swimming_ aspect of the following day, had been on both of your minds. 

 

Then, clearly having made up his mind, Mycroft had grabbed your hand, before he’d led you into the living room. 

 

Mummy had been sitting down opposite Father Holmes who had been quietly attempting to read a dry looking book about history, in between chatting to his wife, and both of them had looked up as Mycroft had dragged you spiritedly into the living room, before he’d stopped in front of them. And Sherlock had sloped in a moment later and kept close to the door and wall, no doubt interested in seeing what might be about to occur but wanting to be able to get out of there fast if need be too. 

 

Then, whilst your heart had raced, Mycroft’s hand had shifted against yours a little, before he’d looked at his mother and said, “I'm sorry Mummy but I won’t be able to help you tomorrow, I've already promised to take F/N swimming.”

 

And, _“Swimming?”_ Mummy had questioned with her brow a little furrowed and Father Holmes had hid a smile behind his book. 

 

So, “Yes,” Mycroft had confirmed, whilst you’d shifted a little awkwardly beside him. Then, “F/N’s a very good swimmer Mummy, she used to compete and everything, and so I'm quite surprised and annoyed with myself that the idea has only just occurred to me,” he’d said, and at that point you’d squeezed his hand in an attempt to show him that you weren't angry with him. 

 

But it had been a gesture that had not gone unnoticed by Mummy however, and she’d eyed your linked hands for a moment with something like distaste in her eyes, before she’d looked at you and then asked, “Why don’t you compete any more?” 

 

And your lips had parted but rather unhelpfully no words had come out, so Mycroft had looked at you worriedly for a moment, before he’d looked back at Mummy and said, “F/N’s very ambitious Mummy, and she’s decided to put her academic ambitions over her swimming ones, at least for now,” in an attempt to cover up the moment, and you’d looked at him gratefully. 

 

Yet both of your hands had stiffened against each other’s in the next moment when Sherlock, unable to stop himself, had let out a bit of a snort as he’d wandered across to lean against the arm of Mummy’s armchair, whilst his eyes had glittered with something dark as they’d come to fix on Mycroft. And Mummy had given him a curious look, whilst Mycroft had shot him a dark one. 

 

But much to your relief Mummy hadn't questioned Sherlock about what he was finding so amusing. Yet still your heart had plummeted a little in your chest when she’d turned back to look at Mycroft and said, “In that case perhaps you can do some errands for me in town, whilst you’re there and whilst F/N’s busy swimming Mycroft,” and you’d felt Mycroft’s heart take a similar route. 

 

Then, “I was rather hoping that I might”- Mycroft had begun a little anxiously, before he’d broken off somewhat awkwardly, looked at you and then looked quickly away again, this time to a point somewhere behind Mummy’s head. 

 

And, “Might hope to _what_ , Mycroft?” Mummy had asked him in a rather stern fashion that had made you swallow, whilst Mycroft had shifted his position uncomfortably once more. 

 

So, “Well,” Mycroft had begun, before he’d confessed, “I've never watched F/N swim before and I was rather hoping that at the very least I might be able to catch a glimpse of her.” And his eyes had come to fix on you as he’d finished and your breath had hitched in your chest as you’d just found yourselves staring at each other again, before his fingers had started to absent-mindedly stroke your hand. Yet when Mummy had prominently cleared her throat at you both in a disapproving fashion you’d looked away from each other and his hand had stilled upon yours. 

 

Then, “In that case,” Mummy had begun, before she’d announced, “You can take Sherlock with you,” and her words had made reams of protest go up from both of her son’s at once. 

 

With Mycroft saying firmly, “I don’t need a chaperone Mummy,” in an indignant voice at the same time that Sherlock had exclaimed, “And the last thing I want to be is lumbered with them, whilst they make googly eyes at each other,” and you’d flushed and looked away, whilst Mycroft had shot a glare at his brother. 

 

“But if F/N’s swimming, whilst the both of you are running errands for me in town then there won’t be any room for, ‘googly eyes,’ now will there?” Mummy had told Sherlock rather strongly. 

 

Yet, “I’ll still have to put up with them in the car,” Sherlock had muttered grouchily, before, unable to resist, he’d added, “And we all know that Mycroft finds her even more attractive when she’s wet”-

 

And, _“Sherlock!”_ Mycroft had exclaimed in horror, and his grip on your hand had tightened for a moment, before he’d let go of you automatically in the next. 

 

Mummy meanwhile had batted Sherlock on the arm, yet that had just resulted in him smirking, whilst Father Holmes had made an embarrassed kind of spluttered cough, before he’d ducked his head more firmly behind his book once more. 

 

And you had found your mind unhelpfully filled with white noise and unable to act anything other than the embarrassed idiot that you’d felt. So all you’d done was blush furiously, whilst you’d linked your hands together awkwardly in front of you. 

 

Then, “You know full well that I don’t have any preference as to whether F/N’s wet or dry,” Mycroft had told his brother firmly, before he’d blushed even more terribly when Sherlock had muttered a brief, “Not yet you don’t,” and he’d realized what, what he’d just said could be interpreted as. 

 

And your eyes, having come to the same conclusion, had widened somewhat comically, before you’d bitten down hard at your lip, torn between laughter at the sheer awkwardness of what had been currently happening and embarrassment at Mycroft’s words. 

 

Then in an attempt to end that particular embarrassment Mycroft had said, “Mummy I don’t”-

 

Yet, “I know you don’t want Sherlock going with you Mycroft,” Mummy had begun in her most firm but patient voice, before she’d carried on more fervently, “But that’s my final say on the matter. So your brother either accompanies you both tomorrow or none of you go at all”-

 

 _“But”_ \- Mycroft had begun to protest anyway. 

 

Yet Mummy had cut him off with a bit of a sigh, before she’d explained to him in an exasperated fashion, “Mycroft if your brother goes with you then you’ll no doubt get all the errands I've got for you done twice more quickly, which will still give you enough time to catch the glimpse of F/N swimming like you want to.”

 

And you’d been able to tell that Mycroft still hadn't been happy about his younger brother accompanying you both, but in the end he’d just nodded. 

 

So that had been how you’d found yourself bundled up in the passenger seat of Father Holmes’s beaten up old car that following morning with Mycroft in the driver’s seat and Sherlock sitting in the back, whilst Mummy talked to her eldest son through the wound down window. 

 

“Now Mycroft be careful on the road and drive at a sensible speed all the time, I think there’s traffic lights down by the bridge so you’ll have to go even slower as you approach it”- she’d begun. 

 

But, “We’ll be fine Mummy,” Mycroft had interrupted her in a weary tone with a bit of an embarrassed tight smile. 

 

And she’d looked at him steadily for a moment. Then reluctantly she’d nodded and stepped back from the car a little. 

 

So, “We’ll see you later Mummy,” Mycroft had told her, before he’d begun to wind the window up. 

 

But before he’d been able to do so Mummy had stepped forwards and asked, “You will phone if there’s a problem won’t you?” 

 

So, “Of course,” Mycroft had told her in a voice that suggested he only had so much patience remaining, and sensing such a thing you’d wriggled about a little uncomfortably in the passenger seat. 

 

And then, after she’d finally run out of reasons it seemed, for delaying you any further, Mummy had stepped back from the car completely and let Mycroft wind the window up fully.

 

Then you’d felt a little awkward as you’d watched Mummy make her way back behind the gate of the cottage so you’d swallowed and tried to smile when her gaze had shifted to you momentarily once she’d turned back around. And then you’d wondered whether, in her mind, it had felt like you were somehow kidnapping and spiriting both of her sons away from her, even though you _weren't_ the one in the driver’s seat. But then you’d let out a little gasp as you’d been flung forwards a little as Mycroft nearly stalled the car as he started it. And you’d been vaguely aware of the dark look that had immediately clouded Mummy’s face, as if _you’d_ been the reason for her son nearly stalling the car, and the amused chuckle that had come from Sherlock in the back. But mostly you’d been aware of the slight panicked look that Mycroft had sent you, so, “I'm fine,” you’d told him as you’d let out a little breath and looked at him in return. And his eyes had scanned all of you for a moment, before seemingly satisfied; he’d nodded and then given one final nod to Mummy. Then he’d checked the mirrors and pulled out. 

 

But as soon as Mummy was out of view he’d let out a bit of a breath and half-looked at you, before he’d said, “I'm sorry about that.”

 

Yet before you could say anything Sherlock had got there with, “Yeah, it’s not exactly the way to impress a girl is it? Nearly stalling a car,” which he’d drawled out in a lazy fashion, before he’d tugged at his seatbelt a little and shifted into a more slouched position. 

 

And two red dots of colour had appeared on Mycroft’s cheeks. Then, “Like _you’d_ know,” he’d commented derisively, before he’d said, “And I’d appreciate it if you could sit up properly whilst I'm the one who’s driving,” with a bit of a glare in the windscreen mirror

 

Yet all Sherlock had said was, “Would you now?” before he’d just slipped down his seat even further. 

 

And, _“Yes,”_ Mycroft had replied curtly with another glare at the windscreen mirror, granted that he couldn't actually now see Sherlock in said mirror because he’d slipped down so much. Then he’d said in a more conversational tone, “I must confess that I'm getting rather tired of your behaviour this summer already brother dear.”

 

And his words had made Sherlock scowl, before he’d given a bit of a kick to your seat, which had made you let out a little gasp of surprise. 

 

So, _“Apologize,”_ Mycroft had ordered his brother as soon as he’d realized what he’d just done. 

 

Yet, “Why should I?” Sherlock had spat back with folded arms. 

 

And Mycroft had wrenched his mouth open and said, “Because F/N’s done nothing to warrant such behaviour and furthermore you might think otherwise but we’re both fully aware that you only did that because you’re still sulking about not being able to see John as much as you’d like this summer”-

 

Yet far from being perturbed by his brother’s knowledge Sherlock had begun promptly, “You’d be sulking too if all you had was the sight of grass and the feeling of boredom to look forward to all summer”-

 

But, “Oh Sherlock,” Mycroft had groaned tiredly, before he’d added, “You've been banging away quite happily in your room, don’t pretend otherwise,” and then when Sherlock had merely swung his head off to the side and looked out of the window in disdain Mycroft had reminded his brother, “F/N’s still waiting for your apology.” 

 

Yet, “It’s fine,” you’d told Mycroft in a quiet voice, before you’d squeezed his arm reassuringly with your hand for a moment because you’d been growing more and more tense and uncomfortable the longer the argument had gone on between them and you’d even started to picture Mycroft losing his concentration over it and crashing the car and Mummy blaming you for the whole thing, and quite frankly you’d felt like that was the last thing you’d needed right then. 

 

And, _“See?”_ Sherlock had exclaimed, before he’d announced, “F/N doesn't care.”

 

But Mycroft’s gaze had half gone to you again. Then when he’d read the uneasy expression on your face easily he’d turned back to face the front, before his eyes had flicked to the windscreen mirror again when he’d said, “ _F/N_ , has more common sense than the both of us put together.” And then he’d sent you a bit of an apologetic yet knowing smile so you’d smiled a little hesitantly back at him, an act between you which had made Sherlock groan. Yet, “And you can stop reacting in such a silly fashion whenever F/N and I do so much as smile at each other too,” Mycroft had told him. 

 

So, “Can I do so much as breathe in your presence Mycroft? Or do I have to ask your permission for that as well?” Sherlock had hit back and you’d felt like banging your head against the dashboard in both despair and exasperation at the whole thing when the brothers had gone back to bickering once more. 

 

So you’d felt more than a little relief when the car had finally pulled to a stop in the largest car park the town offered, which was tiny of course compared to the car parks offered in London. So relieved in fact that you’d got out of the car quickly and breathed in the summer air quite happily even though the sky had been remarkably dull that day. 

 

Sherlock had got out next, and he’d stretched out his long limbs and tossed his head back a little. 

 

Then Mycroft had clambered out, whilst he’d stuffed the car keys carefully into his pocket, before he’d turned so that his gaze could find you. And then, “Hopefully we’ll be done with Mummy’s list in an hour and then I’ll see you at the pool after that?” he’d asked. 

 

But, “Give me an hour and a quarter, I need to get a new swimming costume after all,” you’d told him reasonably and he’d swallowed a little, before he’d nodded. 

 

And Sherlock had groaned at the obvious location that Mycroft’s mind had gone to. 

 

And it had been an act, which had made Mycroft clear his throat and hurriedly shift his position, before he’d told you; “All right, an hour and a quarter then,” with his eyes upon you so you’d nodded. 

 

And then for a moment both of you had partly just looked at each other a little uncertainly and partly avoided each other’s gaze, for neither of you had known how to leave one another. 

 

Then Mycroft had made up his mind and approached you, and he’d sort of lunged forwards awkwardly, his hands going to your upper arms as he’d kissed your cheek, before he’d drawn back with the words, “I’ll see you in a bit then,” and you’d nodded. But then, as he’d clearly felt reluctant to leave you, he’d stated, “Are you sure-?”

 

So, _“Yes,”_ you’d told him as you’d grasped his hand briefly with yours for a moment. 

 

And, “I’ll keep my phone on,” Mycroft had told you. 

 

Then he’d started a moment later when Sherlock had punctuated the brief silence between you with the words, “Christ are we ever going to go or are you two just going to stare at each other all day?” 

 

So Mycroft had given his brother a bit of a dark look, before he’d looked at you again. 

 

Yet, “I’ll be fine,” you’d told him, before you’d leaned up to kiss him on the cheek to reassure him even further, and then when he’d nodded, whilst his face had softened you’d pulled back from each other and let go of each other completely. 

 

Then you’d walked across the car park towards the nearest row of shops without a backwards glance. 

 

*

 

Swimming was, you’d decided, as you swum another lap-this time doing the breaststroke because it offered you more thinking time-one of the things that should have been completely affected by everything that had happened to you, what with the way that Carl had died and the fact that you’d been drugged and weighed down underneath a pool after that. Yet aside from feeling a little anxious about it all in the changing room you’d been fine and as soon as you’d lowered yourself gingerly into the water you’d been even more so. In fact being back in the pool again had felt like being in a home from home and once more you’d felt that sense of glorious freedom and the sense that you were actually doing something for yourself for once, and not only doing it but being in control of it too. And so you’d swum back and forth, alternating between doing the front crawl and the breaststroke mostly, but even doing a small attempt at the backstroke, which you’d never felt that confident at because you nearly always ended going off to the side and bumping into people, quite happily. And you’d felt glad for the sudden sense of anonymity that you’d been given too. For right then you hadn't been the girl who was a victim or had been raped and the girl who warranted protecting the way that Mycroft seemed to think you did all the time, you’d just been another swimmer. But more than that though, the way you’d been then, you could almost be anyone you wanted to be. Even the girl you’d been before Moriarty had done what he’d done to you and when you’d still had your parents. Untainted and innocent again, and the feeling had made you cry a little, and your tears had slipped away and disappeared into the pool, before anyone could spot them. 

 

Yet, just as your emotions had started to get the better of you once more and you’d thought that you might have to get out a little earlier than planned just to get yourself together again, your eyes had spotted Mycroft as he arrived in the viewing area that was high above and in between the adult pool that you were in and the children’s one that was on the other side. And feeling relieved to see him you’d waved to him as soon as his eyes had come to fix on you. So he’d given a little look to both his left and right, before he’d waved a little awkwardly back. Then you’d smiled and felt full of a sudden determination to show him what you were capable of. So you’d turned your back on him and swum to the far wall, before you’d spun and kicked off it and then gone back in the strongest front crawl you could towards him. And you’d felt a small thrill and a great sense of achievement when, upon arrival at the other end, you’d craned your head up to look at him and seen him smiling and applauding you all by himself, his sense of uncertainty and self-awareness gone, as his eyes had become truly immersed by you, whilst his cheeks had been tinged with colour. So, whilst you’d felt bolder yourself you’d jumped up out of the water a little, and his eyes had widened in amazement as you’d done so, before you’d given him a little playful bow on your way back down. Then you’d done another lap of the pool for him, before you’d decided that, that was enough for one day and so you’d pulled yourself up as gracefully as you could, something which had been rather impossible due to the fact that your swimming costume seemed determined to cling to your body in a most graceless fashion, before you’d shivered a little and pushed your damp hair back from your face as you’d made your way back to the changing room. 

 

Then you’d changed quickly and pulled your hair out of its loose ponytail so that you could brush it, before you’d put it back into one. And then you’d made sure that you’d got all your things, before you’d stepped a little cautiously out of the changing room, whilst you’d wondered where Mycroft might be waiting for you and if you’d have to make your way to the viewing area and find him there. 

 

Yet Mycroft had been leaning against the pale green and white coloured wall opposite the changing room, rather like a slightly more casual looking guard outside Buckingham Palace. And as soon as you’d come out of it and he’d seen you his face had brightened. So you’d approached him with a small but pleased smile on your face. 

 

Then you’d warned him, “I probably stink of chlorine,” when he’d made to slip his arms around your waist as soon as you’d joined him. 

 

Yet, “I don’t care,” was all he’d breathed, before he’d pulled you even closer to him. Then he’d angled his head closer to yours, before he’d caught your lips with his, and you’d let out a sound of pleasure at the feel of his lips sliding against yours more insistently than you could ever remember them doing before, and at the feel of his hands as they’d run up to explore your damp hair. And he’d only pulled back from you briefly so that he could tug your hair free and run his hands through it even more as it fell down by the side of your face, before his lips had joined with yours once more. And then he’d been the one letting out a sound of pleasure and it had been time for your hands to explore as they’d run up across his cheeks and back through his hair, before they’d fallen back down to his chest. 

 

Then when you’d both pulled back from each other with his hands on your waist and yours still on his chest you’d both just exchanged a soft smile with each other for a moment, before you’d asked him a slightly teasing tone, “You liked watching me swim then?” 

 

And, “Liked it?” Mycroft had exclaimed in a rather incredulous, breathless fashion, before he’d gone on more fervently, “My dear,” and there had been a small awkward hesitation then as he’d clearly remembered the conversation you’d had regarding that phrase before, and so you’d lowered and twisted your hand a little so that you could squeeze one of his hands, whilst it was still on your waist, before you’d looked back at him. Then he’d ducked his head again so that he could kiss you briefly once more, before this time, rather than pulling away more he’d only done so enough so that his forehead had come to rest upon yours. And then, after he’d closed his eyes for one moment and you’d let a little breath escape you, he’d told you softly, “You were like Queen of the swimming pool.” 

 

And, _“Mmm,”_ you’d murmured, before you’d tilted his head so that you could peck at his lips. Then you’d told him, “ ‘Queen of the swimming pool,’ I like that,” before you’d drawn back from him and he’d let out a delighted kind of chuckle at your words. Then he’d wrapped an arm around your waist as you’d both begun to make your way out of the leisure centre together, before you’d asked him curiously, “Where’s Sherlock?” 

 

So he’d tilted his head so that he could both look at you and give you a small smile, before he’d quipped, “Probably setting the car on fire,” and you’d let out a laugh and patted him playfully on the arm with your hand, before you’d caught his hand in yours and swung them back and forth as you’d made your way out of the final door and back towards the car park. 

 

Sherlock had been lying slumped out across the back seat, and when he’d caught sight of the loving fond looks that Mycroft and you had sent each other as you both got back into the car he’d let out a huge groan as he’d swung into a more upright position, before he’d given you both a massive roll of his eyes. 

 

Then, “You know,” he’d begun conversationally, before he’d suggested, “For the right price I could quite easily spend another hour or two in town and then you could both spend some time making moon eyes at each other without my presence and Mummy need be none the wiser about any of it.”

 

Yet, “I thought the expression was ‘googly eyes,’ brother dear?” Mycroft had asked, and he’d looked even more pleased that he’d chosen to make the remark when you’d snorted. 

 

But, “After further evidence just now I've revised it,” Sherlock had told him officially and the corner of Mycroft’s mouth had twitched. 

 

Then, getting back to business, Mycroft had asked, “And what would the right price be?” 

 

And Sherlock had taken an extra moment to ponder on the matter, before he’d announced, “Fifty.”

 

But Mycroft’s eyebrows had simply risen, before he’d shaken his head. Then, “No,” he’d said. 

 

So, “Why ever not?” Sherlock had retorted with a bit of a frown. 

 

And, “Because brother dear, if it wasn't for partly my influence on you as you’d grown up you’d have fully become the idiot that you were threatening to turn into, and not only that but I've had to put up with nuisance from you and John for far too long without such payment.”

 

And Sherlock had pulled a bit of a face at that truth, before he’d shifted his position. Then, “Thirty-five?” he’d suggested with a hopeful look on his face. 

 

Yet Mycroft had only shaken his head again, before he’d said promptly, “Thirty.” 

 

But, “I saved your life,” Sherlock had reminded his brother, before he’d added quickly, “I saved _F/N’s_ life,” and Mycroft had looked at you with a considering expression on his face and you’d raised your eyebrows at him as if to tell him that Sherlock’s words _might_ be worth considering after all. Yet before Mycroft had been able to do anything more than look back at his brother Sherlock had gone on more petulantly, “Thirty can’t get you anything these days.”

 

So Mycroft had tutted a bit, before he’d asked, “What are you after that’s so expensive anyway?” And then, “A train ride down to John’s perhaps?” he’d suggested. 

 

But though Sherlock had smiled for a moment, no doubt at the thought of his John, when he’d spoken it had been to say, “No actually,” before he’d gone on, “I need to update some of my chemistry things before next year, I ruined a couple of vials doing experiments.”

 

And at that point Mycroft’s eyebrows had risen further still at the prospect of Sherlock being so potentially sensible. Then he’d turned further so that he could look at his brother more properly and he’d given him a bit of a suspicious look as he’d done so. Yet Sherlock had been wearing a perfectly serious expression. So Mycroft had relented with a bit of a sigh, “Fine, thirty-five it is then brother.” And then he’d turned around to face the front again, before he’d pulled out his wallet from the pocket of his smart black trousers, and whilst he was doing all this you’d exchanged a bit of a smile with Sherlock who had looked more than satisfied with himself. Then Mycroft had carefully plucked out three ten-pound notes and one five-pound note, before he’d turned and handed the money slowly to Sherlock. 

 

So, “Thank you, that will certainly go some way towards the train fare to see John,” Sherlock had said as he’d taken the money from his brother, before he’d carefully rolled it all up and stuffed it inside his trouser pocket. 

 

And you’d let out a bark of laughter, whilst Mycroft had shaken his head knowingly as he’d faced the front again, before he’d shoved his wallet back into his pocket. 

 

Then, “Well if it gets you out of F/N’s and my hair for a bit then it won’t have gone to waste,” he’d shrugged. 

 

But, “It might get me out but it won’t get Mummy,” Sherlock had told his brother with a bit of a grim smile, before he’d opened the car door and clambered out of it. Then he’d turned and ducked down, saying a, “See you in a bit,” to you both in a vague fashion, before he’d added a knowing, “Have fun,” to his brother, who had blushed at the remark. Then he’d shut the car door and strode off. 

 

And you’d watched Sherlock go for a moment, before you’d bit at your lip and turned back to Mycroft. Then, “So where are you going to take me?” you’d asked him with a small and somewhat mischievous smile. 

 

Yet though his lip had twitched into a bit of a smile he hadn't said anything more then a causal and vague, “Oh, I've got a spot in mind,” before he’d turned away from you, tugged the seatbelt across his chest and started the engine of the car. 

 

*

 

Mycroft had ended up parking off the road in a lay-by that had been a short way away from a brown dirt track that had led to a bench overlooking a cliff, and you’d been awestruck as you’d got out of the car. For even though the wind had blown fiercely at your hair and it had been cold the sight of the sea stretching out into the distance as you’d stepped instinctively closer towards the cliff and the sound of the surf crashing against it, not to mention the privacy that the place offered, being completely deserted aside from you both, had made you fall instantly in love with it. So, wanting to tell Mycroft, you’d turned your head to look over your shoulder, expecting to see him just a step behind you. But Mycroft had been several steps behind you, and he’d been wearing a rather awkward and sheepish expression on his face as he’d attempted to carry a blue and green picnic rug underneath one arm and drag a large picnic hamper with one hand. 

 

And, “Oh my God here,” you’d exclaimed as you’d hurried back towards him, taking care not to slip on the muddy short grass as you went, before, “Here let me take that,” you’d told him more fervently as you’d carefully prised the rug out from underneath his arm with both of your hands and he’d looked at you gratefully. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” he’d murmured a little breathlessly due to the breeze and the weight that he’d been attempting to carry. 

 

“So where did you get all this from?” you’d asked him as you’d carefully turned back and pushed your hair back from your face with your free hand, whilst you’d both cautiously made your way towards the bench. 

 

Then with a small smile Mycroft had confessed, “Well, I’d been hoping that, what with us going out today, we might be able to have a moment for ourselves,” before he’d added by way of explanation, “We've barely had much time together after all,” like you hadn't known. Yet instead of being sarcastic you’d just nodded. And then, “So I snuck the picnic hamper into the car this morning after Father had helped me put some goodies inside it, whilst Sherlock distracted Mummy-I had to pay him ten pounds just to get him to do that so his day has been very profitable so far”-

 

“So when Sherlock offered to give us some time together just now-?” you’d interrupted him. 

 

And, “Yes,” he’d begun with another sheepish smile, before he’d added, “He was simply doing what I’d already indicated that I’d like him to.” But then, “I couldn't find the picnic rug in that time this morning though so I had to buy one in town,” he’d confessed, and he’d given you a bit of an apologetic smile then as if he’d let you down terribly. Yet you’d been unable to find him anything but completely adorable in that moment. So when he’d asked, “Was it an okay idea?” before he’d added, “I was hoping it would be a bit warmer,” with a nod in the general direction of the sea, you’d been unable to say anything other than, “It was a perfect idea, thank you.” Then you’d spun around in front of him so that you could kiss him quickly on the lips. 

 

And when you’d pulled away and caught sight of the pleased expression that had been on his face, feeling pleased yourself you’d turned and skipped the rest of the way. 

 

Then you’d spread the picnic rug out on the short grass in front of the bench, before you’d sat down upon it just as Mycroft was making his way around the bench to you. And he’d lowered the picnic basket carefully down upon the rug, before he’d cast a little troubled look at the bench as if he hadn't been quite sure whether he should sit down on it or join you on the rug. 

 

Yet when you’d told him, “Come here,” with a bit of a fond grin at him he’d smiled back at you and let out a bit of a breath, before he’d done just that. Then, “It’s beautiful here isn't it?” you’d asked him, whilst you’d looked around and taken in the overcast dramatic sky, and you’d felt for a moment as if you were in a Jane Austen novel. 

 

So, “Yes,” he’d murmured as he’d sent you a soft look that had made you blush. Then he’d gone on to explain, “I found it one day when I was just driving around by myself and ever since then I've come here whenever I could to think.” And then he’d added with a small smile, “It’s one of the places that I knew I wanted to show you when you first agreed to spend the summer here,” and not knowing what to say to all that you’d just smiled at him, whilst you’d felt incredibly touched that he’d wanted to share this place that was special to him with you. Then, after no doubt getting the feeling that words were failing you but that you appreciated the place all the same, he’d asked you, “Would you like to see what we've got for lunch?” 

 

So you’d nodded. Then you’d watched and made various noises of delight as he’d flipped the lid of the basket open and begun to pull out tasty looking cheese and cucumber sandwiches, a flask of tea, some fruitcake, grapes and plain crisps. 

 

And, “I hope it’s to your taste,” he’d told you with a quick glance at you, before he’d lowered it to fix on a cheese and cucumber sandwich that his hands were unwrapping from their cling-film covering. 

 

So, wanting to reassure him, you’d placed a hand upon his to stop him from doing what he was and to get him to look at you again. Then when he’d done so with a bit of a tentative expression on his face you’d stroked his hand lightly a couple of times, before you’d told him, “I like everything, it’s perfect, thank you,” and then you’d leaned across to kiss him delicately on the cheek. 

 

And looking suitably pleased with himself he’d given you a small smile, before he’d gone back to unwrapping the sandwich. Then once he’d done so he’d passed it to you with the rather formal words, “Your sandwich,” so you’d taken it with a bit of a smile. And seeing such a thing he’d blurted out, “Sorry, I”-

 

But, “I'm not making fun of you,” you’d assured him, before when he’d still looked uncertain you’d added, “In fact, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you,” and once more he’d had a very pleased look upon his face at your words, before he’d ducked his head to try and hide it from you, and him doing such a thing had only made you fall for him even more, so you’d let out a soft, fluttery breath as you’d looked at him. 

 

Then, for a short while, you’d both just eaten in a comfortable silence together, before after you’d mostly finished and had a drink of the tea also you’d shifted closer to him. And then you’d leaned against him and rested your head against his shoulder, and he’d shifted his position to accommodate you better, before he’d tentatively begun to feed you some of the juicy, green grapes. You’d closed your eyes and let out a great, “Mmm,” at the taste of the first one, and when you’d opened them again it had been to see that Mycroft’s eyes were wide and his mouth open as he stared at you, and your face had softened at his look of obvious fear immediately. Then, “Can I have another one?” you’d asked him as you’d taken the lead. 

 

And he’d started a little. Then, “Yes, of course,” he’d told you quickly, before he’d swallowed and then looked down so that he could pick off another grape from its stem with fumbling fingers. 

 

Yet, “Shh, it’s all right,” you’d told him, before you’d placed a hand carefully upon his to get him to stop his struggling, and he’d looked up with a bit of a blush and his lips beginning to part as you’d done so. Then, “Let me,” you’d told him, before you’d lifted his hand away with yours and plucked a grape off its stem. And then, “There,” you’d whispered as both your eyes and his had risen once more to meet each other’s. Then you’d let out a little breath, before you’d slowly reached the grape across towards him. And a bit of a ragged breath had escaped him as he’d frozen in place, his eyes completely fixed on you, before they’d gone to the grape. Then a beat had passed between you, before he’d come out of his daze enough to jerk forwards a little and take the grape from you with his mouth. And you’d let out a breath as he’d done so. Then after he’d finished eating it your mind had sensed that, that was probably enough of such sensual activity for one day for him as well as you, so, “Let’s just sit here for a while,” you’d told him. 

 

And then as you’d felt the reassuring presence of him so close to you and gazed out at the tiny pinpricks of sun that had shone through the grey overcast sky you’d wished that you could just stay there and spend forever getting to know him better in that picturesque landscape. 

 

Whilst in the present you wish that such a thing could have happened even more. For in that moment, even though you’d felt the troubles in your mind slowly closing in on you, it had been like they’d been going at a slower rate or had even paused. Whilst now however they feel like they’re only a centimetre from closing in on you completely and you don’t know what to do. For you've never had a sweeter or more important relationship with a man than the one you've got with Mycroft, but at the same time you feel trapped and suffocated and like if you don’t have some more space for yourself soon then you’ll simply explode from it all and end up ruining everything. And you feel so upset and frustrated with the whole thing. For isn't this the part where things, what with Moriarty more out of your life, should be getting easier? And where you, instead of feeling so emotional about everything all the time, should be on the road to recovery? But instead you've got this version of everything and you don’t know how you can push through it all to get to the better one. And such thoughts make you huff out a breath, before you lift up your arms and splash at the water in frustration. 

 

Yet a moment later you hear a distinctly panicked voice yelling, “F/N? _F/N!_ ” and the sound of someone with heavy feet moving quickly over the grass towards you, so you splash ungainly-making a huge racket as you do so-into an upright position. 

 

Then you cough and splutter a little and blink the water that had gone into your eyes as you moved out, before you let out a soft curse as you see that it’s Mycroft and that he’s now stopped halfway down the hill, his face incredibly pale and gasps of relief leaving his open mouth, whilst his eyes fix on you. And then as he starts out of his shock and begins to move towards you, you swipe your hair back from your face, though it sticks to your forehead determinedly and does little more than flop back into position once you've moved it. Then you begin to wade out of the lake. And it’s only a moment or two after he’s skidded to a stop by its edge that you find yourself moving out of it completely, your white dress completely soaked through, weeds tangling around your mud-smeared legs and your body now utterly freezing despite the sun. 

 

And, “Christ, are you mad?!” Mycroft breathes as he sees you shiver, and he grabs onto your arm as he does so, but you wrench it from him and it’s too slippery and wet for him to attempt to carry on holding on to it. 

 

So then, because you can’t deal with his horrified face or what he must already be thinking of you right now, you snap, “I didn't come here to kill myself if that’s what you’re thinking”-

 

And for a moment Mycroft just opens and closes his mouth helplessly at your matter-of-fact tone and manner. But then, “Well you’ll bloody die anyway if you don’t go back to the cottage right now and get out of your things,” he utters, and he seems shocked to the core about seeing you in such a state, not to mention after what you've just said. Yet, “Come on,” he says a moment later, no doubt trying to keep a straight head about things, and then he begins to turn around. 

 

But, _“No!”_ you cry defiantly, because you can’t take any more, you just can’t, and then you slump to sit on the grass, and he turns around to you at once, looking more shocked than ever. 

 

Then when he sees the position that you've now got yourself into he says in a voice that’s determined but choked with emotion all the same, “No, I'm not going to have you getting ill or dying on me, I just won’t have it F/N, so you've got to get up now,” as he comes around to stand in front of you. And then, when you still don’t move, he reaches down and attempts to pull you to your feet by grabbing onto your arms. Then, “Come on, get up,” he urges you. 

 

Yet as you pull and wriggle against him and he struggles to find purchase on you his hands come into contact with the old, now slightly healed and faded bruises on your arms and you cry out in genuine pain, which makes him let go of you at once with a look of utmost horror upon his face, before you begin to sob, and you bury your head in your folded arms upon your knees as you do so. 

 

And, “F/N? F/N?” Mycroft says, and he sounds worried and like he _really_ doesn't know what to do now. Yet when you just sniff and adjust your position in response to him he sits down beside you with a thump, before he reaches a tentative hand across so that he can touch your arm. But when you sense what he’s doing and lean away from him he draws his hand back from you at once. Then, “F/N, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, surely you know that? Surely you know that I would never…” he begins, before he trails off. But then, “F/N? Please, please come back to the cottage with me, you’ll freeze, I”- he tries again. 

 

Yet as you lift your head up and away from your arms suddenly you blurt out, “I can’t!” And then as his face becomes rigid as he looks at you, you add, “I feel trapped!” in a bit of a wailing voice. Then, “A-And I'm sorry, but I can’t stay here any more,” you tell him, for you know that with a firm certainty in that moment, and then you stand up. 

 

But, “Why?” Mycroft begins, clearly not understanding now, and then, “Is it something I've done? Just tell me so that I can try to fix this,” he urges you, and then he scrabbles across to you on his knees, before he peers up at you in a meerkat fashion. 

 

Yet you’re scared of what he’ll think of you if you do tell him, not to mention that you still feel so guilty and ashamed of feeling the way you do, so you shake your head and make to turn away. 

 

But then before you can Mycroft hurries forwards on his knees, before he presses his hands lightly against the side of your waist. And then he peers up at you desperately as he begs, “No, please, please don’t shut me out again,” and then as you swallow, before your lips part he goes on, “I thought, before at the hotel, after I first found you again, I thought that you were starting to let me in more so please don’t stop now…”

 

“But you don’t understand,” you tell him in a bit of a shaky voice as your body trembles. 

 

And he shifts a little closer to you now, before he asks, “What? What don’t I understand? Please tell me,” and as he does so his hands begin to rub at your waist in an attempt to warm you. 

 

Yet his constant kindness towards you is too much, and something, which only makes you feel guiltier, so, “Stop it! Stop being so kind to me!” you yell at him as you take a step back now, and as his hands drop off your waist he nearly topples forwards, but as he manages to re-gain his balance he looks more shocked at your words than at the fact that you’d just pulled away from him. 

 

And, “Stop being kind to you?” he exclaims, before he says with some confusion on his face, “I can’t do that, I lo”-

 

But, predicting what he’s going to say, you let out a bit of a ragged gasp as you blurt out with a shriek, “Don’t! Don’t say it!” 

 

Yet, “It’s how I feel,” Mycroft tells you, looking hurt as well as confused now, and you can tell that he doesn't have a clue of how you want him to behave. 

 

So, “Well you shouldn't!” you tell him harshly, and then when he looks like you've just hit him you gasp out, “Don’t you get it? I'm broken! I'm a horrible, broken, selfish person,” and there are tears rolling down your face now and tears rolling down his, but then as he begins to open his mouth to protest you go on fiercely, “I'm messed up inside, and you deserve better.” And then, “Do you know what I've been feeling despite all of your kindnesses towards me ever since we got here?” you ask him fervently, and when he bites at his lip for a moment, before he shakes his head, whilst he looks apprehensive you go on, “I've been feeling trapped, suffocated and like I can’t breathe because you’re always there asking me if I'm all right or trying to make sure that I don’t get hurt again.” Then when he looks as if he’s about to ask what’s wrong with him doing such things and trying to show you that he cares for you, and when you can see that he just doesn't understand what you’re trying to tell him at all, you go on, “And don’t think that I don’t feel sick because of it because I do. I hate myself”-

 

And, _“F/N,”_ Mycroft breathes now as he moves forwards and attempts to grab at your hands again in an effort to stop you from saying such things about yourself. 

 

But you only let him hold onto the tips of your fingers as you shake your head at him and then go on, “I hate myself because you’re the most…the _best_ person that I've ever had in my life except for my parents and I should…I shouldn't be feeling anything but gratitude for everything that you've done and that you’re trying to do, but I _do_ ”-

 

Then, “Tell me what you want me to do instead,” Mycroft interrupts you, before, “If what I'm doing for you now isn't right for you then tell me what I should be doing and I’ll try to do it,” he pleads with you now, rubbing at the tips of your fingers with his. 

 

But you shake your head at him for a moment and the hope that had been in his eyes dies. Then, “Look at you,” you tell him softly as you become more and more aware of the desperate state that he’s worked himself into, before, to explain yourself further, you add, “I'm ruining you,” sadly with your head slightly tilted.

 

Yet, “I don’t care,” Mycroft protests.

 

But, “I do,” you tell him softly. And then as you move one of your hands from his so that you can gently stroke his cheek you go on, “When I first met you, you were a little guarded sure, but you were perfect. And you’re still perfect but I'm tainting you.” Then before he can protest and tell you that no you’re not you tell him, “Look at what you've had to go through this past year because of me. You've had me forcing you not to tell anyone about what Moriarty was doing to me, and look at the guilt you ended up feeling just because of that despite the fact that none of it was your fault, and Moriarty could have really hurt you, or you could have been _killed_ in that swimming pool, and it would have all been my fault”- and his mouth opens now as if he’s going to say something, but again you get there first with the words, “And look at us now, your Mum hates me and thinks I'm leading you astray and quite frankly she’s right. I'm not good for you.”

 

Yet, “You _are_ ”- Mycroft finally gets a chance to interrupt. 

 

But, “No, I'm not,” you tell him with a wave of your hands, and then, “Look at us!” you spit and he flinches at your tone, before, “ _Look_ at the distance that I'm putting in between you and your family already, all just because you can’t tell them what a mess your girlfriend is,” you exclaim. 

 

And, “You’re not”- Mycroft begins. 

 

But you grab at his hands with yours now, and you hold them tightly as you tell him fervently, “You deserve to be with someone better, someone who has no baggage, someone who isn't as selfish as me and who will take care of you as much as you take care of them”-

 

Yet, “I don’t mind taking care of you,” Mycroft protests, before he adds more fervently, “I like it,” and, “I like feeling that you need me.”

 

But you let out a bit of a sigh, before you tell him, “I know you don’t mind it,” a little heavily. And then, “But you shouldn't have to take care of me so much,” you tell him, before you confess, “I want you to be with someone you can have more of a laugh with, someone you won’t have to worry constantly about, someone your parents would be able to like straight away because she wouldn't be hiding anything like I am”- and then unable to go on you break off with a bit of a gasp. 

 

Yet, “There’s no one else I want to be with,” Mycroft tells you, and it’s firm even though his voice is breaking. 

 

But, “Well maybe you should find someone then,” you tell him, and then, feeling like everything’s been said, you take your hands off his, before you swallow. And then with folded arms you begin to make your way back to the cottage. 

 

Yet you haven’t gone any further than halfway up the first hill when you stop, already panting a little breathlessly because of the sheer weight of emotion that you’re feeling, and turn back around to look at him in spite of yourself. And what you see makes you feel like your heart’s breaking. For Mycroft’s standing up now and staring at you fixedly out of shiny eyes with a desperate look upon his face as he does so and there are tears dripping down from his eyes. But it’s the sight of his shoulders shaking with his own sobs that get to you most along with the sight of his clenched fists as he clearly tries to desperately re-gain some control over himself. And for a moment you even take a step or two back towards him, and you see the hope come back into his eyes again, before you stop yourself as your own fists clench. For you know, deep down, that as hard as it is you’ll be doing the right thing if you walk away from him now. The right thing for him in the long run. So after a little fluttery breath escapes your lips you force yourself to turn around. And this time, as you begin to move away, you don’t look back again. 

 

Then, when you get back to the cottage for a moment you just stand in front of the back door and attempt to hopelessly tug the weeds that are wrapped around your legs off, before you pant hard and unclench and clench your fists. And then, after taking a deep breath, you force yourself back inside. The kitchen is empty so you swallow and think for a moment. Then you head to the living room and you see not one other soul on your way. 

 

But you've picked correctly for Mummy and Father Holmes are sitting opposite each other in the living room, talking quietly, something that they stop doing abruptly as soon as you enter. 

 

And as soon as Mummy takes in your monstrous appearance she stands up with a bit of a shriek, before she exclaims, “What on earth have you been doing?” Then, “Where’s Mycroft?” she adds quickly with some suspicion in her eyes. 

 

But you can’t go back into all that now, so instead of answering all her questions you just force out, “Mycroft’s fine,” in a deep, heavy breath, before you add, “I’ll get cleaned up in a moment, but before I do I just wanted to tell you that although I'm very grateful to you both for letting me stay here I've decided to go somewhere else for the rest of the holidays. So um I’ll go and pack now,” in a bit of a rush. 

 

But, “Oh,” Mummy says, clearly distracted from your appearance by your news just like you’d hope she’d be. And then she adds, “That’s a shame,” whilst she doesn't sound disappointed at all, and she only looks at you again quickly, before she sits back down once more. 

 

Yet it’s Father Holmes’s turn to get to his feet now, and he takes a step towards you with a worried look upon his face, before he asks you gently, “Would you like me to take you to the station?” 

 

And once more you feel taken aback by the kindness that apparently only runs through the men in this family. Then, “Only if you don’t mind,” you tell him. 

 

So, “No, it would be no trouble at all,” he says. 

 

And, “Thank you,” you tell him gratefully, and then you both just look at each other a little uncertainly for a moment, whilst Mummy tuts, before you say, “Right, I’ll go and pack then,” and begin to scurry off to your room. 

 

Yet as you leave them you hear Mummy exclaiming, “Really, I don’t know why you had to do that Edwin,” so you falter for a moment. 

 

But after you hear Father Holmes saying, “Well, I can’t just let the poor girl walk there can I?” before he adds, “I don’t think Mycroft would be too pleased if we let anything happen to her,” a painful pang hits your chest and you go back to your room. 

 

It doesn't take you that long to get cleaned up, and you throw your dress into the bin and discard it completely, before you dress in jeans and a hoodie instead. Whilst it doesn't take long to pack either, but it still takes long enough, and it’s rather amazing how scattered your things have become in just a couple of weeks. 

 

Yet as soon as you’re done rather than beginning to drag everything out to the front door you hesitate. For it suddenly occurs to you that you should probably tell Sherlock some of what’s occurred at least. So you pad to where you know his door is. Then you hesitate for a moment when you can hear banging noises coming from inside it, before you raise your hand and tentatively knock upon it. The banging noises cease at once though and then you hear a groan of frustration coming from inside it. But before you can announce who you are and explain yourself a bit further the door’s flung open in front of you. 

 

And, “Mycroft, what have I told you about disrupting me when”- Sherlock begins, before he cuts off abruptly when he sees it’s you. Then, _“Oh,”_ he says. And you nod and attempt to smile at him. But when he realizes that you've been crying and sees how full of tears your eyes still are he concludes, “You just broke up with him.”

 

And a little breath escapes you at his words. But you've long since learnt not to ask how he can tell such things just by looking at you. So with your lip trembling a little you nod. Then, “Yes, I think I did,” you confess, before as a bit of a gasp escapes you as the extent of what you've just done begins to hit you more fully and your shoulders begin to shake with emotion you look down. 

 

But, “Where have you left him crying?” Sherlock asks you, and his voice is a little stiffer now. 

 

So, “By the lake,” you admit a little falteringly as you look back up at him again, and you feel even more guilty and upset as you do so. 

 

And Sherlock just nods and stares at you for a moment, and his eyes glitter with something as he does so. Then, “I guess I won’t see you again until university starts back up,” he says. 

 

So, “I guess not,” you tell him with a bit of a watery smile, before you bite at your lip and fold your arms. 

 

And then without another word Sherlock closes the door gently in your face. 

 

So you swallow, before you make your way back to your room. Then you begin to take all your things out of it, and once he hears what you’re doing Father Holmes comes to help you. 

 

Yet once everything’s in the car and you've said a final goodbye to Mummy who had barely looked at you as you’d done so and you’re just on the small path in front of the cottage with Father Holmes standing a little in front of you, half-turned so that he can look in between you and the car, you hesitate again. For Mycroft, as far as you know, still hasn't come back from the lake, and whilst part of you thinks that it’s probably for the best if you don’t see each other again before you leave another part of you can’t help but feel uneasy about leaving him in this way. 

 

And as if he can both sense and understand what, or rather who’s, on your mind Father Holmes says, “I'm sure Mycroft would like to see you before you go if you wanted to find him. I don’t mind waiting.”

 

And his words make you bite at your lip for a moment as you consider that particular option. But then you shake your head and say, “No thank you,” before you add by way of explanation, “I think we've said our goodbyes,” whilst tears fill your eyes once more. 

 

And, seeing how upset you’re feeling, Father Holmes approaches you with a concerned and serious look upon his face, and you attempt to swipe the tears that have already fallen away as he does so. Yet you still when he places a gentle hand upon your shoulder, before he murmurs, “Let us be on our way then,” and steers you towards the car slowly. 

 

*

 

Things are silent on the journey for a long time, and you’re tense at the beginning of it, for you half-expect Mycroft to suddenly make a mad dash onto the road and try and stop you from going or something. Yet he doesn't. And when you come to realize that you've probably gone too far now for such a thing to happen you shift your position, before you begin to relax a little. But it’s only a little though for you just can’t seem to get the image of Mycroft standing there with his shoulders shaking out of your head. 

 

And Edwin’s mind is clearly on his son too, for when you’re no more than a couple of miles from town and the station he begins a little tentatively, “I don’t know what’s happened between you and my son, whilst you've been staying with us, and I'm not asking you to tell me. Likewise although I don’t know why you've chosen to leave us so suddenly I'm not asking you to tell me. But I do want to say this,” and as he pauses now and your heart races you force yourself to half look at him. Then, “My son, no matter what he might have done to upset you, cares about you very deeply F/N,” he goes on. 

 

And a little breath escapes you as you look to the front again. Then, “I know,” you tell him heavily out of cracked lips. 

 

And, “Good,” Father Holmes breathes. But he’s not done yet for, “And I know that you care for him a lot too,” he says, and as you look at him a little incredulously now he looks at you and his lip twitches as he catches sight of your expression. Then, “In spite of what my wife might think,” he adds as he looks at the front again, and you have to smile a bit of a watery smile at that. “So,” he begins, “Although I cannot claim to know how you've left things with each other I would just like you to promise me one thing. And that is, if he tries to call you, or text you, or get in touch with you however all you young people contact each other these days”- and you have to let out a chuckle at that in spite yourself-“Then please just answer his calls or whatever for the both of your sakes.”

 

And you hesitate a moment, before you conclude, “I’ll try Mr. Holmes.” Yet when he gives you a bit of a mock stern look you correct yourself by saying with a bit of a smile, “I’ll try to Edwin.”

 

So, “Thank you,” he breathes, and that is the last thing that’s said on the matter. 

 

*

 

Once you get to the station he buys you a sandwich and a drink for your journey and waits with you, whilst you sip at your drink through the straw that’s been provided, for your train to get in. 

 

And then once it does and you both stand up and look at each other, you with an uncertain expression on your face and him with a more secure one, he tells you, “I hope that we’ll get to have you to stay with us again sometime,” in a pleasant fashion. 

 

So, “Thank you,” you tell him politely, before he helps you to carry your things towards the train and you say a final goodbye to each other. 

 

And then that’s that and you’re sitting down in one of the window seats and Edwin’s face is just a blur on the platform as the train, which will take you away from Mycroft and to Brighton once more, whirs into life.


	2. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's feelings about what happens during the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, firstly thank you so much to you all for your support, I'm very happy that you all seemed to like the last chapter. :) Also I'm very sorry for not updating sooner, but as you can see this chapter's a bit of a beast so it took a while to get together! ;) I hope it'll prove to be worth the wait though, and also just an apology because if you don't like sad Mycroft [and who does?] then yeah, this chapter might be a little tough for you. :( Saying that though Mycroft does have a nice dream in this, so, yeah, that might be pleasing to you! ;) 
> 
> Also I want you all to know that I will start posting the third part to this series asap, but that I also want to start working on this Mycroft/Reader one shot and get that up before Christmas so you might face a little delay, but again I'll do my best to make sure that the wait won't be a huge one so thank you in advance for bearing with me. :)

Sherlock looks again to his brother who’s sitting on the train seat opposite him. Mycroft’s still sitting pretty upright but his shoulders are a little slumped, whilst his face is pale, creased and serious as if all the energy is slowly being sucked out of him. His head meanwhile is tilted towards the window and his eyes stare fixedly out of it. But Sherlock’s pretty sure that he’s not really seeing any of it. 

 

And indeed Mycroft’s forcing his mind, in the rather unusual sluggish haze that he finds himself in, to go back through everything, and he’s not doing so for the first time either. But still, he finds it necessary to do so again. For he’ll be seeing you soon after all. And he feels like Hamlet now, at the last point where thought can be had, before action must take place. So he goes back to the night, which had followed the morning you’d danced together. 

 

Back to when Sherlock had roused him awake. 

 

As soon as his head had jerked automatically upwards off his pillow and he’d blinked himself somewhat awake he’d asked, “Sherlock what is it?” in a raspy whisper. 

 

Yet even in his sleepy state he’d thought that he’d known what it might be from the look of slight hesitancy that had been in his brother’s eyes. So when Sherlock had said, “It’s F/N, I think she’s having a nightmare,” he’d sat up at once, before he’d begun to push the covers off himself. 

 

Then as Sherlock had stepped back Mycroft had swung out of bed and rubbed the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes, before he’d looked around in a bit of a frantic state. And then he’d grabbed a white shirt from where it had been neatly folded on the chair by his desk, and as he’d started to thrust his arms through it he’d asked his brother, “How bad is it? What’s she doing?” 

 

Yet again Sherlock had hesitated a moment. But when Mycroft had looked at him a little impatiently with slightly parted lips he’d said, “She’s moving about a bit from side to side and… _moaning_ , I guess.”

 

So Mycroft had sworn softly, before, as he’d decided that he wanted to get to you as soon as possible so that he could help you, he’d abandoned the prospect of doing up his shirt buttons in favour of tugging on his trousers hurriedly instead. Then he’d hurtled out of the room and Sherlock had hurried after him, switching off the bedroom light on his way. 

 

When he’d got to your bedroom door though Mycroft had hesitated a moment, afraid of what he might see. And so for a moment he’d just stood there with his hand resting lightly on the slightly chipped white paint of the wooden door. Then, because he’d known that even though you might not know it yet you’d need him when you woke, he’d slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. And it had been another moment, before he’d had the courage to switch the light on. Then, at the sight of you, he’d let out a little breath, whilst his heart had tumbled inside his chest. For you’d been lying on your back as your body had jerked and twitched a little, pulling you to one side a bit as if you were being possessed, and as gasps of frantic breath pushed themselves out of your mouth the expression on your face had been strained. Then when he’d stepped closer still he’d been able to see the sweat glistening on your forehead. And as the look of hope and happiness that had filled your face earlier had come back to him he’d felt a great ache in his chest. For he’d known that, that night, when you woke from the hell that you were in, you’d need him more than ever as the true reality of what still faced you would no doubt hit you. So, as he’d tried to ready himself to give you all the comfort and hope that you’d no doubt need when you woke, he’d padded cautiously forwards, before he’d sat down slowly on top of the bed. And he’d done so slowly because he’d been afraid that when you woke you might think he was Moriarty again, even though the light was on. Whilst even Sherlock, who had not been privy to when you’d woke and thought Mycroft Moriarty, had seemed to be anxious at what might be about to occur for he’d let out a little breath. So Mycroft’s gaze had gone back to his brother for a moment, before he’d looked back at you. 

 

And then, because seeing you so close like that with your face scrunched up in pain, had hurt him even more he’d reached a tentative hand forwards, before he’d tapped at your cheek delicately with it as he’d murmured, “F/N? F/N? Come on my dear, you need to wake up now…”

 

Yet Sherlock, clearly thinking that, that approach would do more harm than good had muttered, “Perhaps you should let her wake naturally,” so Mycroft’s eyes had swivelled towards his brother yet again.

 

But then in the next moment, as you’d let out a bit of a gasp and a yell, his eyes had gone back to you at once, whilst his heart jumped a mile in his chest, and he’d only had a quick chance to catch sight of a flash of your e/c eyes as you’d sat up in bed with a start, before you’d flung yourself into his arms. 

 

Then he’d been vaguely aware of Sherlock leaving the room. And then all he’d been aware of was you. You as you sobbed and pushed your head against him. And the feeling of surprise at the strength that you still clearly had inside you after you’d gone through what had no doubt been a horrific nightmare, reminiscent of an equally horrific memory, had quickly given way to a want to protect you and keep you safe. So he’d held onto you tighter still. But then when you’d said, “It’s not over, it’s not okay,” he’d felt, not only a great need to reassure you but a sense that he was utterly helpless too. Yet such helplessness had been something that he’d forced-because he wanted to reassure you-back down as much as he could.

 

Yet when, after doing the best that he could for you-though it still hadn't felt enough for him-he’d left the room after you’d finally fallen asleep once more, he’d left it feeling drained. And as he’d done so that feeling of utter helplessness had come back to him and for a moment he’d simply had to lean against the door frame, whilst he’d let out a ragged breath or two, because how could he properly help you when you went through such things? He could try and be there for you and offer comfort, but he could not do ultimately what he wanted to, which was to get rid of the nightmares and fully put a stop to them. But then, after he’d let out a sigh at such thoughts and run a quick hand through his hair, it had occurred to him that he best move, lest he should disturb you and wake you, so he’d gone back downstairs. 

 

When he’d got to the dining room however it had been to find that Sherlock was waiting for him at its table, sipping at tea as he sat there in his dressing gown. 

 

Yet by that point, as Mycroft had felt so weary and drained, he’d not even been in the mood to talk to his brother so he’d simply asked, “What are you doing down here Sherlock?” with a bit of a sigh. 

 

And naturally Sherlock had taken offence by that. Something which had become all the more clear when he’d said, “Well I’d chosen to stay up because I wanted to not only check that F/N was all right, but that _you_ were too,” in a bit of a snappy tone. And as Mycroft had stopped in his tracks and let out a bit of a subdued breath, before he’d looked across at his brother, Sherlock had gone on, “But I certainly won’t be doing that again if this is the way you act,” as he’d stood up. 

 

So as his brother had folded his arms, before he’d made to stomp out of the room, Mycroft had sighed out, “Sit down,” wearily. 

 

But, “I don’t think I will,” Sherlock had retorted childishly, despite the fact that he’d stopped in spite of himself at Mycroft’s words. 

 

Yet when Mycroft had uttered out, _“Please,”_ as he half-closed his eyes and pressed at his temple with his fingers Sherlock had done as his brother had wanted and gone to sit back down again. Then when Mycroft had sat down to the side of him he’d said, “I'm sorry, I just”- as he’d done so, before he’d broken off again. 

 

And, “It’s getting worse?” Sherlock had interpreted. 

 

So, “Yes,” Mycroft had breathed, before he’d pulled a bit of a face and then run a frustrated hand back through his hair. Then, “Well, I think it is anyway,” he’d concluded, before he’d confessed, “It’s hard for me to tell, it’s just her reaction”-

 

And, “Doesn't she tell you about it?” Sherlock had asked, and there’d been a touch of surprise to his voice. 

 

But, “Not really,” Mycroft had admitted as he’d stared rather morosely at the blue cup, which contained Sherlock’s half-drunken tea.

 

And Sherlock had let out a bit of a sigh, before he’d pushed the cup towards Mycroft. Then when Mycroft had looked up at him with both surprise and a question in his eyes Sherlock had informed him, “You might as well have the rest of it.”

 

So Mycroft had looked at him gratefully for a moment, before he’d pulled the cup even closer towards him with his large hands and then taken a sip. But after he’d done so he’d drawn his head quickly back up from it at once, and then as he’d lowered the cup back to the table he’d told his brother with a bit of an apologetic smile, “I always forget that you like it stronger than me,” so Sherlock had rolled his eyes again. Then Mycroft had added, “We should probably be getting to bed anyway,” with a bit of a frown, for he still hadn't felt much happier about things. 

 

But Sherlock had asked, “Do you think summer will help her?” as Mycroft had gotten to his feet, and Mycroft hadn't needed to ask whom he was talking about. 

 

So, “I hope so,” he’d murmured, before he’d given his brother a rather forced half-smile and a quick squeeze of his shoulder. Then he’d padded back to his own bedroom. 

 

But he’d barely slept that night though. For all he’d been able to think about was you, and even though you’d been crying against his shirt his vest had felt a little damp as if your tears had soaked through to it. And for a moment he’d wondered if they’d soaked right through to his chest and to his heart too. Then he’d wondered about what might happen if your nightmares persisted. For he’d sensed that there was only so long that you could continue having them, before they ruptured you completely. A fact that he felt would come to be especially true if you didn't open yourself up to him or someone else about them soon. But he’d felt like he had no idea how to explain such thoughts to you other than what he’d told you already that night. Not to mention that he still didn't know what more he could do for you other than to be there for you if you woke him like you’d promised to. So if you still continued to say little about them even after the promise you’d made him then what was he meant to do about it? And how was he supposed to help you?

 

But he’d still been no closer to knowing such a thing when he’d woken up in a groggy state that morning. And, as he’d still felt uneasy about everything, he’d got up straight away and padded to your room after dressing. Then he’d peered around the door and just stared at your huddled form for a moment, before, as he’d wanted to get a closer look at you he’d snuck cautiously into the room. 

 

You’d been on your back again, but this time, as he’d looked at you, the expression on your face couldn't have been more different. For your face was peaceful and relaxed and there had even been a little smile toying about your lips. And as you’d shifted them a little and let out a soft, contented breath, he hadn't been able to resist bending down and whispering, “Good girl F/N,” before he’d pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You’d let out a little moan as he’d done so, before you’d surged upwards a little, and for a moment he’d been convinced that he’d woken you. But then you’d slipped down once more with an even happier expression on your face. So he’d let out a soft breath for a moment; before he’d wondered with a bit of a wry smile what you were dreaming about. Then he’d given you one last studious look, before he’d gone downstairs. 

 

Yet once he’d started to munch at the toast that he’d made himself that uneasy feeling that things might yet get worse before they got better had come back to him. So when Sherlock, Molly and Gregory had joined him he’d decided to make the latter two more aware of your still fragile state with words, “F/N had a bit of an upsetting nightmare last night.”

 

And Molly and Gregory had exchanged a bit of a look with each other at that.

 

Then, “Yeah? Is she all right?” Gregory had asked as he’d looked back at Mycroft. 

 

So, “Well, that’s rather the problem I'm afraid,” Mycroft had begun with a bit of an edge to his tone as he’d finished buttering his second piece of toast. Then he’d looked up at first Molly, before his eyes had come to fix on Gregory as he’d said, “I think, if last night was anything to go by, then F/N might still have a way to go, before she can move on from what’s happened.”

 

And Molly had bitten at her lip for a moment, whilst Gregory had looked serious. 

 

Then, “Maybe I should go up and see if she’s okay,” Molly had said with a quick glance to the ceiling, before she’d looked back at Mycroft. 

 

“But I don’t think”- Mycroft had begun. 

 

Yet, “I think it’s a good idea,” Gregory had interrupted him, before, when Mycroft had looked at him questioningly, he’d gone on, “F/N’s going to have to talk to other people than you sooner or later Mycroft if she’s going to properly settle back in here.”

 

But still Mycroft hadn't felt satisfied. And no doubt seeing such a thing on his face and wanting to make it better Molly had said, “I’ll go up if she hasn't joined us by the time we've finished breakfast, and I’ll leave if she wants me to,” to him more reassuringly, and then, “I don’t have to stay that long anyway,” she’d added 

 

But still Mycroft hadn't felt content. So, “It sounds like a good enough deal to me,” Gregory had said, and Molly had smiled at him gratefully for a moment, before her face had turned more serious as she’d looked back at Mycroft once more. 

 

And then, as Mycroft’s lips had thinned somewhat, Sherlock had quipped, “Yes, you can’t expect to keep her to yourself all the time brother.”

 

So, “Fine,” Mycroft had breathed finally, before his gaze had gone from his brother to Molly as he’d told her, “But don’t push her if she doesn't want to be pushed.”

 

And, “I won’t,” Molly had said with a bit of a small, knowing smile as she’d ducked her head down so that she could finish off the last of her cereal. 

 

And Mycroft had cleared his throat a little and felt embarrassed when he’d sensed that Molly was smiling at him looking out for you so obviously. Whilst another part of him had hoped, as he’d finished his own breakfast off, that you’d get up and enter the room. For that way, at least if Molly still insisted on trying to speak to you he’d be able to keep an eye on the proceedings and make sure that Molly didn't upset you. 

 

Yet of course when Molly and everyone else had finished you still hadn't been there. So instead, he’d been left there to wait by the table as Molly, after she’d given him one last half-smile, had risen and left for your room. 

 

But still he hadn't been able to resist calling, “Be gentle with her,” just before Molly had completely left the room, and it had been a sentiment, which had made Sherlock groan. 

 

Molly meanwhile had stopped and hesitated for a moment, before she’d turned her head to the side. Then she’d given a small nod without saying anything, before she’d left. 

 

But, “For God’s sake Mycroft,” Sherlock had complained, whilst he tilted his chair back onto two legs. 

 

Yet, “I'm only trying to do what’s best for her,” Mycroft had told his brother in a clipped tone as he’d looked at him once more, before he’d looked a little thoughtfully towards the door even though he’d known that Molly wouldn't be coming back yet. But he’d been aware of the look that Sherlock and Gregory had exchanged at the same time as he’d done so. 

 

Yet as more time had passed and still Molly hadn't returned the fact that he’d known that both Sherlock and Gregory thought he was being silly about things hadn't stopped him from becoming more anxious and worried as he wondered what on earth was going on. So he’d looked at his watch, before upon seeing that five minutes had passed he’d cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

 

Then, “Perhaps I should go and see”- he’d begun as he’d risen from the table, but he’d broken off abruptly when Sherlock had let out a groan of despair and then gone on to fling up a hand to his face in complete and utter exasperation. 

 

And then he’d listened and looked at Gregory when Gregory had said firmly, “Just give them a little more time,” before when Mycroft had shifted his position a little uncertainly he’d added in a more reasonable tone, “For all we know F/N might still have been asleep when Molly went in and Molly might just be waiting for a minute to see if she wakes up,” 

 

Yet still Mycroft hadn't been sure. For yes, he supposed that what Gregory had just said might be true. You might still be asleep. But at the same time he’d got the distinct feeling that it wasn't. And so he’d moved from side to side a little uncertainly for a moment, before when he’d made his mind up he’d huffed out, “I'm sorry Gregory, but I just can’t, I have to make sure that she’s not upsetting F/N,” and then without any further ado he’d strode out of there. 

 

But, _“Mycroft,”_ Sherlock had said in a rather frustrated fashion as he’d torn after him a moment later. And then when Mycroft had faltered for a moment and looked back at him Sherlock had gone on, “You don’t want to go blundering in there only to find out that everything’s fine and that you've just made an idiot of yourself.” 

 

Yet Mycroft had just shaken his head irritably at him as if he’d been swatting off a fly. For didn't his brother see that he had to check? That it was imperative that he did so and made sure that you were okay? Didn't Sherlock see that making an idiot of himself had to come secondary to all that? And then, with no time to explain such thoughts if his brother didn't already understand them, Mycroft had simply turned and continued his journey upstairs. 

 

But Sherlock, after letting out another little breath of frustration, had followed him. 

 

Then he’d held back a bit on the landing as Mycroft had first put a finger to his own lips, before he’d tilted his head towards the door. 

 

And for a moment Mycroft hadn't been able to hear anything. But then when he’d pressed his ear ever so closer to the door he’d heard Molly say, “…please don’t think that I think you’re lying because I don’t, I just wish you’d been able to tell us about it, I mean I get why you couldn't”- and at hearing her flustered tone he’d been about to barge in there, and his hand had even knocked for a moment against the door knob. 

 

But then in the next moment he’d let out a little breath and started a bit with surprise when he’d heard you say, “He was clever,” for there had been such venom and bitterness in your tone, and he’d wondered for a moment exactly what you’d been telling Molly about before he’d come. Yet then he’d heard you go on, “It was punishment, him raping me, for not standing by him before when he did”- and once more his hand had trembled against the door knob, covered only by the exclamation that Molly had let out. But as much as he’d wanted to barge in there and take you in his arms there had been something compulsive about just standing there and listening to you as you’d gone on, “When he did _that_ ,” even though such words had made a shuddering breath leave his mouth and his eyes close and his heart ache for you once more. Then he’d continued to listen as you’d continued, “I knew, I thought that was how it would look, that it would look like I’d just been jealous and that you wouldn't believe me, _he_ made me see that was how it would look,” and again Mycroft, as his eyes flickered open once more, had been just moments from barging in there. Yet he’d hesitated again when you’d said, “But part of me, part of me wanted to believe that you would, that because we were friends you wouldn't believe what appeared to be right so readily and that you’d understand that I'm not that person and that something wasn't right”- and then he’d swallowed and forced himself not to go in there because Molly needed to respond, and needed to tell you that she’d be there, and he’d known that it was vital for you that she did so. But then after she had and he’d heard you sobbing it had taken him a lot of willpower not to. And the only reason that he hadn't was because he wanted to make sure that you didn't have anything else that you wanted to get out. So he’d felt partly grateful that he’d made such a hesitation when you’d blurted out, “I was so ashamed,” and then, “I still am,” even though the tone of your voice had sent pain shooting through him. 

 

Then he’d felt a hesitant sense of approval when Molly had said, “Oh God F/N you've got nothing to be ashamed about,” before she’d continued, “ _I'm_ the one who should be ashamed”- for at least she’d been trying to help you and say the right thing. And he’d felt an even greater sense of such a thing a few moments later as Molly had said that she wouldn't let Moriarty rip apart her friendship with you so easily again and when she’d said that you were both going to be there for each other properly from that point on. 

 

And he’d smiled a soft smile a few moments later when he’d just about heard you say, “I'm glad that Greg and you got together,” for that was just like you to be trying to cheer someone up when it was clear that they were the ones who needed doing so, and you saying that then had reminded him of how you’d checked that you hadn't hurt him back in the hotel after he’d first found you again in an attempt to distract his mind. 

 

And his smile had grown even more when he’d heard Molly say, “I'm glad that you finally got together with Mycroft,” and, “I think you’ll be very good for each other.” Not to mention when she’d said, “Just focus on all the happy times that you’ll surely have with Mycroft now and on getting better,” and Mycroft had practically made a sound of loud approval in his throat at that. 

 

So when the conversation seemed to descend into silence not long after, Mycroft, as he’d wanted to be with you and show you just how right Molly was, had taken the cue to finally push your bedroom door open and step inside. 

 

Yet when he’d seen Molly and you embracing and the way that you’d quickly turned your head away from him after seeing it was him there he’d begun to wonder if he’d chosen the right moment to announce his presence after all. For instead of looking happier with the promise of having good times with him in the future to look forward to you’d still looked upset. So he’d asked, “Is everything all right?” whilst he’d forced his eyes away from you and onto Molly. 

 

And then he’d been hoping that at him speaking you’d look at him, but still you hadn't. And when Molly had replied, “Yes, we’re just having a bit of a moment that’s all,” in a peculiar sort of tone he’d just ended up feeling more like he shouldn't have come in. 

 

So, _“Oh,”_ he’d said as something inside him deflated. 

 

Yet things had got even worse for him when a voice in the hallway had called, “ _See?”_ before it had gone on, “I told you that you shouldn't have gone blundering in there, but _oh no_ , you simply couldn't keep away from F/N for five minutes.” And things had looked like they’d get even worse again when his brother had walked into the room. 

 

So it had been no wonder that the words, along with the visible smirk that had been on Sherlock’s face when Mycroft had turned his head had made him give his brother a bit of a frown. For, even though, regrettably, it now looked like Sherlock was right and that he _shouldn't_ have just disrupted Molly and you, he’d only done so because he cared. And Sherlock had known such a thing, for he’d made it quite clear. But then anything that he might have been about to say in his own defence had got swallowed up inside of him when he’d heard a sound that had sounded peculiarly like laughter coming from you. And so, whilst he’d felt both puzzled and a little alarmed he’d looked at you at once. Yet as soon as he’d seen that you were looking at him, not to mention the soft, hesitant smile that had been on your face as you’d done so and the way that your eyes seemed to shine because of your tears he’d felt not just the muscles in his face begin to relax but the muscles in his whole body do such a thing too. And for a moment he’d felt grateful for his brother’s little intervention. 

 

Then when you’d said, “Sorry, I must look a mess,” in a rather bashful fashion a moment later he’d felt even more drawn to you. 

 

So he’d approached you instinctively, and barely noticed that Molly had stood up and pulled the chair that she’d been sitting on back to its proper place as he’d done so. 

 

Then once he’d been stood beside you he’d looked at you for a moment, before his heart had flipped over in a rather pleasant fashion when his eyes had come to see the handkerchief that he’d given you, which had been resting on your bed. And he’d handed it back to you instinctively then, before he’d said, “In that case you look like a beautiful mess I must say,” without being able to help it in a further attempt to cheer you up and make you smile even more. So naturally he’d felt more than pleased when his words seemed to have achieved such a trick and when you’d chosen to lean against him and place a delicate hand upon his stomach, as he’d put an arm around you instinctively. And feeling you so close to him and your hand as it lightly pressed against him had just made him feel even more content. So he’d felt a little annoyed when Gregory had stumbled in a moment later and disrupted what was promising to be a peaceful scene between you.

 

But then when Gregory had said, “If you’re going to have a party in here then you could have at least invited me,” and he’d heard you laugh again he’d, just as he had with Sherlock, begun to feel grateful for Gregory’s presence. 

 

And as the day had passed and he’d witnessed you smiling more and looking more hopeful again it had been as if the darkness of the night had slowly been rolling its way off you and he’d started to feel even more hopeful himself. For although he’d known that you still had some way to go and that there would no doubt be some painful and difficult times to come, he’d felt that if everyone continued to rally around you and if you kept your promise to wake him up when things got bad and started to open up to him more because of it, then things would only improve for you, not to mention with his relationship with you.

 

And thinking such things had encouraged and spurred him on to shut himself in his room that evening and phone Mummy. For though it hadn't been something that he’d been looking forward to doing because of the no doubt over the top reaction that it would trigger from her and the embarrassment that it would cause him as a result, the last thing that he wanted to happen was for there to be some sort of problem, which would result in you not being able to stay with them. For he hadn't wanted to let you down then. Not when everyone else were proving more capable at being there for you and supporting you than he’d previously envisioned they might. So as he’d sat down by his desk he’d finally done it and called home. 

 

Then when Mummy had answered the phone a moment later he’d said, “Hello Mummy,” in a conversational tone. 

 

So, “Oh Mykie dear, how are you?” he’d heard her ask him, before he’d smiled a little when he’d heard her telling his father, “It’s Mykie dear,” whilst she’d held the receiver a little away from her. 

 

So, “I'm fine thank you Mummy,” Mycroft had said, before he’d gone on, “I hope that the same can be said of both you and Father?” in a polite fashion. 

 

And Mummy had concurred that it could be, before she’d gone on to tell him about all the latest family news and what some of her friends had been up to since he’d last phoned her. And Mycroft had listened to her politely and made the right sounds in his throat and spoken the right words when they’d been necessary for him to do so, for he’d known that it was important to let Mummy tell him about everything that she wanted to, before telling her his own news, as that way she’d not only be more satisfied but a little more tired too. 

 

But then, “…So that’s all the news from the end,” Mummy had concluded, before she’d exclaimed a moment later, “Gosh, look at the time,” and then she’d said, “I better leave you Mykie dear, I know that you’ll probably want to revise at this hour won’t you?” 

 

So, “Yes, I was planning to,” Mycroft had told her, before when she’d begun to speak again he’d cut in with the words, “Actually, before you go I wanted to discuss something with you Mummy.”

 

And for a moment there’d just been silence on the line as no doubt a host of horrific scenarios had wormed their way through Mummy’s mind. Then, “You haven’t been in hospital again have you?” she’d asked him. 

 

So an awkward kind of chuckle had left his lips, before he’d said, “No,” and then, “It’s nothing to worry about,” he’d reassured her. But then he’d asked her a little more hesitantly, “Do you remember the girl I spoke to you about at Christmas? F/N?” 

 

And, “Oh my God Mykie,” Mummy had exclaimed, before she’d asked him in a sharper tone, “She’s not pregnant is she?” 

 

And yet another awkward chuckle had left him, before he’d confessed, “No, she’s not pregnant,” which had made Mummy let out a breath of relief. 

 

Then, “Good,” Mummy had told him, “Because there’s a word for men who get women pregnant without a moment’s thought about the consequences, and that’s not a word that I ever want to be associated with either Sherlock or you”-

 

And, “Quite,” Mycroft had interrupted her, as he’d thought that it was best to do so then, before Mummy could get carried away with her thoughts and lead them down another path than the one he wanted to go down altogether. And then he’d shifted his position a little awkwardly, before he’d forced the words, “But we are seeing each other now,” out of his mouth. 

 

And, “Oh my God Mykie, first Sherlock and now you, how wonderful!” Mummy had exclaimed again, that time with a distinct screech to her tone, which had, had Mycroft wincing. Then, “Mykie’s got a girlfriend Edwin,” he’d heard her telling his father in a thrilled voice so he’d rolled his eyes a little. Something, which he wouldn't have dared to do if Mummy had been able to see him. 

 

But then, as he’d thought that he should really get out what he needed to, before she could begin to bombard him with questions about you, he’d said, “Actually there’s a rather large favour that I wanted to ask you.”

 

So, “What’s that?” she’d asked him, and her voice had been a little stiffer and more suspicious with him then. 

 

And Mycroft, as he’d heard such a thing, had shifted his position a little again, before he’d said as boldly as he could, “I’d like it if F/N could spend the summer with us,” and then when he’d heard her let out a little breath as she’d no doubt begun to consider such a thing, he’d gone on, “Her parents are no longer alive, and she’s facing a rather miserable summer if we don’t have her.” Then for good measure he’d added, “She’s very polite and I'm sure she’d be no trouble,” and of course, “And I know that this was a little backwards of me but she got upset recently and I couldn't help but mention the idea of her coming to stay with us and she was very excited about the prospect, as long as it was okay with you of course.”

 

And then he’d faced both a great moment of anticipation and trepidation, before Mummy had finally breathed out, “Well of course we’ll work something out and have her,” and then, “How terrible about her parents,” she’d gone on, before, “How ever did they die Mycroft?” she’d asked him, and the way that she had sounded anxious and concerned for you had made Mycroft feel like he’d done the right thing in inviting you to stay with them. 

 

Yet still, and quite naturally, his voice had been a little grave as he’d replied, “It was in a car crash some time ago now,” for his mind had gone back to that night when you’d been sitting on the settee together and you’d first told him about such a thing. And had Mummy said something derisive or uncaring then he would have been quite liable to snap at her for he’d just felt even more protective of you. 

 

But Mummy had just let out a, “How dreadful,” in one great breath, before she’d murmured thoughtfully, “So young too poor thing…”

 

And, “Yes,” Mycroft had agreed with her quietly, before he’d prompted, “So would everything be all right with you for her to come?” 

 

And when Mummy had stipulated that it was he’d ended up fielding several questions about you from her for the next ten minutes, before he’d finally shaken her off and managed to excuse himself, as he’d said that he wanted to get back to revising. 

 

Yet as soon as he’d got off the phone to her he’d smiled to himself a little bit, before, as he’d felt pleased with himself he’d left his phone on his desk and hurried out of his room. 

 

Then, “Someone’s looking pleased with themselves,” Molly had commented with a small smile as soon as she’d seen him from where she’d been revising by herself at the dining room table. 

 

So, “Mmm,” Mycroft had replied distractedly, before he’d left her without any further comment and then bounded upstairs. 

 

Then when he’d come to be outside your bedroom door he’d just stopped for a moment and pushed his hair back and adjusted his sweater vest, whilst he’d let out a couple of breathless pants. And then he’d swallowed, before he’d knocked smartly upon your door. Then, “It’s me F/N,” he’d called just a moment later, before he’d waited for your response expectantly. 

 

So when you’d called, “Come in,” he’d done so eagerly. And then he’d just taken you in for a moment, whilst he’d closed the door behind him with rather fumbling fingers. 

 

You’d been sitting on your bed with your legs loosely crossed and a spread of papers and books turned down at various pages with multi-coloured strips of paper sticking out of them in front of you. And there’d been a black pen held slackly in your hand, which looked like you’d been chewing the end of it. Something that had made him swallow as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d done such a thing in that study session all that time ago. 

 

Then when you’d put the pen down alongside the highlighter that had been resting off to the side of you on the duvet, close to your leg, before you’d gone on to smile at him, he’d swallowed again and nodded. And then, with a renewed focus as he’d come to remember why he was there in the first place, he’d approached you swiftly, before he’d pecked you quickly on the lips. Then, after he’d crouched down by the side of your bed and taken your hand in his as you’d looked at him, he’d murmured, “I've just been on the phone to Mummy.”

 

And, “Oh?” you’d questioned, and as you’d suddenly looked a bit more apprehensive he’d rubbed at your hand reassuringly with his for a moment. 

 

Then he’d gone on, “Yes, and she’s very happy to have you for the summer,” before he’d added, “She’s very excited about meeting you,” with a bit of a smirk on his face. And then when you’d looked tentatively pleased he’d felt as if he wanted to spend more time with you so as he’d stood up he’d asked you, “Why don’t you bring some of that downstairs and then we can go through it together?” 

 

And, “Okay,” you’d murmured, and his heart had flipped pleasantly when he’d seen that you looked more pleased.

 

And such a thing had continued to happen for the rest of the night as you’d sat down at the dining room table together-Molly had taken her cue and left for the living room despite your protests that Mycroft and you could find somewhere else to study-and when, in between you reciting things out loud to him and him trying to help you and advise you on the best memory techniques that he knew of-the mind palace being one of those of course-your legs had tangled together and you’d exchanged small smiles. Whilst his heart had jolted in his chest every time you’d patted his arm gratefully or he’d inadvertently made you laugh. 

 

And in the present he finds that the memory’s a painful one as well as a pleasant one now so he has to come out of it and simply breathe for a moment. And as he does so he can’t help but feel sad. For how could him trying to be there for you and him making you smile and laugh be a bad thing as it now-from your perspective anyway-appears to be? How could there be anything wrong with him doing any of those things? Even if it had made you feel _‘suffocated’?_ For surely it was better to be suffocated with love and care than it was to be suffocated by anything else? And his face turns even more troubled now as he remembers how it had been one morning specifically, which had caused that uneasy feeling that he’d mostly managed to push back down to rise within him again, and not only that but made his mind feel more troubled than ever too. 

 

It had been a beautifully sunny day, for London anyway, and he’d woken up feeling quite happy and optimistic. Something which had only increased inside him when he’d rolled onto his back and realized that since neither you nor Sherlock had woken him in the night it must have been a nightmare free night for you. And he’d smiled then. Whilst, once he’d dressed and left his room so that he could begin to prepare breakfast, he’d even whistled a little tune to himself. For he’d known that it had only been one nightmare free night for you after all and that you were bound to have more, but he’d felt happy that you’d been given one night off at least. One night off where you would have hopefully have dreamt about happier, pleasanter things…and he’d smiled again at such a thought. 

 

And when he’d been sat by the table, waiting for you and the others to join him, whilst he ate his breakfast, every time someone had entered he’d looked up with an eager sort of anticipation. For he hadn't been able to wait to see the look of relaxed relief that would surely be on your face as you entered and the little hopeful smile that you’d no doubt give him. 

 

But it hadn't been you that had entered first, it had been Molly. 

 

And after he’d exchanged the usual morning pleasantries with her she’d commented, “You look particularly cheerful today,” with a small smile on her face. 

 

So his lip had quirked upwards in spite of himself. Then he’d confessed, “Yes, well, I wasn't woken in the night so I'm assuming that, that means F/N had a peaceful one,” whilst he’d finished adding a touch more marmalade to his second piece of toast. And then once he’d done so and laid the knife so that it was carefully resting across the lid of the jar once more he’d looked up towards the door again without being able to help it. But still you hadn't been walking through it. So he’d looked back at Molly, before he’d blushed a little and hurriedly started to eat his toast when he’d caught sight of the small, knowing smile that she’d been wearing as she watched him. 

 

Yet still you hadn't entered by the time that he’d finished his toast and by the time that Gregory and Sherlock had joined them. But still, even though Mycroft had begun to feel the first stirrings of worry in his stomach he hadn't felt too bad about you still not being there. For after all, he’d convinced himself, you were probably just making the most of your nightmare free night and sleeping in a little, still lost in dreams that he hoped involved him. 

 

In fact, considering how prone he’d been to worry about you, he’d contained himself remarkably well and it hadn't been until you’d finally walked in and he’d looked at you with his lips slightly parted as he assessed you hopefully that the worry had not just peaked inside him but transformed into pain. Transformed into pain when he’d seen the tentative and slightly drawn look on your face. Transformed into pain when you’d given him nothing but a terse smile, before you’d quickly looked away from him again. And transformed into pain when, because of all those things, he’d realized that you’d had a nightmare after all. 

 

Yet no one else, except for perhaps Sherlock, who’d given him a bit of a calculating look the moment you sat down, seemed to notice that anything was amiss with you. 

 

For Molly seemed to have taken his words about you having a nightmare free night as truth when she’d said cheerily, “Hi F/N, did you have a good sleep?” as Mycroft had known by then that she wouldn't have asked you such a thing had she not been expecting a positive answer from you. And he supposed that he couldn't blame her for taking such a stance, not when he’d been so convinced up until the point that he’d seen you that you’d had a nightmare free night himself. 

 

But his focus had then quickly shifted from his thoughts to you fully so that he could see how you reacted to Molly’s words. 

 

And again he’d paid particular attention to the almost determined way that you avoided his gaze, and the way that your eyes had only flicked to him briefly, before you’d uttered, “Not bad,” a little dismissively as you’d looked at Molly and then made to pour out some cereal for yourself. 

 

And clearly it hadn't been as positive an answer as Molly had been expecting-Mycroft had been able to tell by the way that something had flickered across her face-but still, in spite of that, she’d tried to stay upbeat when she’d asked, “ ‘Not bad,’ well that’s good, isn't it Mycroft?” in a hopeful voice. 

 

And Mycroft’s eyes had gone from her to you then, and he’d waited for you to raise your head to look at him, as he knew you would, something which you’d finally done with a bit of a defiant flush on your face, before he’d said a rather curt, “Yes.” And he’d been able to tell that if you hadn't already known by then that he knew that you’d had a nightmare then you had at that point. 

 

Then, as you barely talked and just ate your breakfast he’d watched you carefully. And as he’d done so he hadn't been able to feel anything but a great sense of disappointment well up inside him. For why hadn't you woken him like you’d promised you would? Why had you chosen to still suffer on your own? And how on earth was he supposed to help you when you insisted on doing such a thing?

 

And naturally he’d just grown more and more frustrated the more he’d thought about it, the more that he’d begun to worry about such a thing continuing, and the more that he’d had to put up with you deliberately avoiding his gaze. 

 

So once Sherlock had left to go and see John and Gregory had left for the library, whilst Molly washed and dried up, and when Mycroft had seen the way that you’d sprung up and made to leave for somewhere too he’d jumped up and grabbed at your arm before you could. And you’d let out a bit of a gasp of surprise at him doing so. Something which had made Molly look across in concern, before she’d looked away again when she’d seen that it was just Mycroft with you. But Mycroft had only loosened his grip on you a fraction because of such a thing. 

 

Then, when you’d turned more properly towards him as you’d bitten at your lip with that same sort of defiant expression on your face, he’d asked you, “Why in heavens name didn't you wake me?” in a low and desperate voice. 

 

And you’d swallowed and turned your head off to the side for a moment. Then, when you’d looked back at him you’d said in as equally as desperate a tone, “Because I didn't want to wake you,” and then you’d gone on in a more frustrated tone, “I don’t want to disturb you all the time, it’s not fair on you”-

 

“But you promised me, you _promised_ that you’d wake me”- he’d interrupted you. 

 

Yet, “Well I didn't, I'm sorry but I didn't,” you’d interrupted him right back, before you’d asked him more firmly, “Now will you please let go of me? I need to go to the library.” 

 

And so, when he’d seen that he wasn't going to get anywhere with you right then, he’d let go of you with a flourish. But he hadn't been able to feel anything but more disappointed with you when you’d simply adjusted your long-sleeved t-shirt, before you’d turned and left.

 

And even in the present he still can’t understand why you hadn't woken him that night or why you’d continued not to do so as the nights had passed. For he’d made it quite clear that he was happy for you to wake him and to be there for you after all so why hadn't you used him for such purposes? And naturally he’d felt more than guilty on the one night when you had woken him and when, due to something rather embarrassing indeed, he hadn't been able to help you. 

 

He’d been dreaming, that’s what he remembered, when he’d suddenly felt a stirring of something and he’d woken up to find that the light was on. So he’d swung his head upwards and blinked a little. Then, when he’d become conscious enough to realize that you were there, standing by the door and wearing nothing but a pair of rather revealing pyjamas, which instantly made him feel more awake and that he was sure that he’d never seen you wearing before, he’d sat upwards, feeling dazed as he did so. And he’d only felt more so when he’d become more aware of the rather fixated gaze that you’d been giving him as your tongue poked out of the right corner of your lips. Then he’d questioned, _“F/N?”_

 

But, “I need you,” was all you’d said, and the way that you’d said it-all soft and breathy-had made his head spin a little. 

 

So he’d asked, “Did you have a nightmare?” as he’d tried to stay focused and in particular to keep his eyes only on your face. 

 

But he’d started a little a moment later when you’d begun to approach him as you’d said, “Yes, and I need you to help me forget about it,” in that same breathy voice.

 

So, “F/N, what’s going on? What’s got into you?” he’d asked a moment later, for he’d never seen you like this before and he was finding it both slightly scary and weirdly alluring. 

 

But, “You, _you've_ got into me,” was all you’d said in that same weirdly seductive tone. 

 

And what had happened next seemed to have happened in an instant. For suddenly you were in his bed on top of him and his hands had been curving around the warm, firm skin of your waist as you’d kissed him deeply. 

 

But though he’d begun to feel himself losing control of his mental capacity and felt his body beginning to take the lead, the fact that you’d just had a nightmare had been something that had been very much at the forefront of what was left of his mind. So he’d pulled away from you with a bit of a gasp. Then as your hands had stroked and caressed at his cheeks and you’d practically begged him to let you kiss him again with those e/c eyes of yours he’d got out, “The nightmare”-

 

But, “I don’t want to talk about that now,” you’d interrupted him firmly, and then as his mouth had opened to speak once more, your finger had gone to press against his lip, flicking at it teasingly in a gesture that had made his heart jolt and his eyes widen. Then, “You’re supposed to be helping me forget,” you’d reminded him, and you’d taken your finger off his lip then and lowered your head so that you could whisper such words into his ear. And the sound of you doing so had made him shiver violently, whilst a low groan of desire had left his lips. Then your lips had been on his again and you’d both been bucking your bodies against each other experimentally, and God it had felt so good. So good to have your hands combing through his hair and everywhere on his face in quick, firm motions that served to just encourage him even further. So good to have your lips nipping against his. And every time your body had just pushed against his even more it had sent his head spinning and his hands shifting slightly on your skin as they’d pushed you even closer to him instinctively. Then, _“Mycroft,”_ you’d uttered, and the longing and desire that you’d put behind that one word- _his name!_ -had made his head spin even more. And then suddenly you’d pushed your hands underneath his vest so that they could explore the skin there and he’d arched his head back against the pillow and groaned again. Something, which he’d done more of when you’d let out a soft, breathy teasing chuckle against the skin of his collarbone, before your lips had gone to his neck. And he’d pushed and jerked his body against yours a little more, before suddenly he’d found his eyes slamming open and he’d come out of what had turned out to be the real dream. 

 

Then, for a moment, he’d just swallowed, for his throat had felt dry, whilst he’d become more aware of the fact that he was on his side and that a certain part of his body felt rock hard. And, perhaps in an attempt to lessen such a thing, he’d begun to slowly move his leg, whilst his hand had instinctively gone towards his hard member so that he could finish himself off in his still half-asleep state. But his hand had jerked back upwards at once as his leg had brushed against something, and a soft yelp of surprise had escaped his lips. Then, as he’d become horrifically aware that there was someone else in his bed beside him and as the hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end in trepidation because of such a thing, he’d wondered if he was still dreaming. Wondered such a thing even though what he’d been experiencing then had felt so real. But then again, the dream that he’d been in with you had felt real too, he’d thought a moment later, and again he’d felt a stirring of something down below. 

 

Yet, “It’s me,” your voice had said just a moment later, causing him to start, and just the sound of it had caused some pre-cum to leak out of him. 

 

And, whilst he’d felt a sense of alarm at such a thing happening when you were so close to him, he’d exclaimed, _“F/N?”_ before, as he’d started to feel even more uncomfortable down below, he’d thought that he better get away from you as soon as he could and definitely before you started to notice that anything was amiss so he’d sat up with a start.

 

Then, with his heart racing and his legs shifting a little to accommodate the now uncomfortable hard bulk that he possessed between his legs he’d begun to clamber over you, and for a moment he’d just hovered above you as he swallowed, whilst his mind had gone back to the dream and how you’d been over him then. And he’d even wondered if he touched your skin then whether it would feel as warm and firm as it had felt in his dream, before, as his underwear had come to feel even tighter because of him having such thoughts and he’d become aware of the position he was in, he’d let out a small breath. Then he’d swung off the bed and into a standing position. And he’d taken a moment just to breathe and adjust his vest then, before he’d righted himself and promptly crossed the room so that he could switch the light on. 

 

And as soon as the light had illuminated the room and he’d seen you sitting up in his bed-thankfully not wearing a pair of revealing pyjamas-he’d swallowed hurriedly again, before his fingers had fumbled to tug his vest down over his underwear. For the last thing he’d wanted right then was for you to spot the obvious tell-tale sign of what was going on with his body in that moment, and then for him to have to tell you about the very embarrassing dream that he’d just had about you. Whilst the second thing that had come to him in a flash as soon as he’d seen your face was that he had to get out of there and fast, by any means. 

 

But then you’d asked, “Will you hold me tonight?” and he’d taken an instinctive step towards you without being able to help himself. Yet, as he’d become aware of how uncomfortable hard he was once more, he’d known that the last thing on earth he should be doing was holding you right then. For if he held you close you’d pick up on his predicament straight away and you’d either be completely embarrassed, like he was, or even worse than that you’d think that he was only after one thing by agreeing to hold you that night. And he definitely didn't want you thinking that. But then he’d felt a sense of frustration because he didn't want to let you down either. So he’d run a hand momentarily through his hair, before it had joined his other one at the bottom of his vest once more. Then, reverting to the colder part of his personality because he felt completely incapable of knowing what to do for the best in that moment, he’d cleared his throat and looked away from you as he’d said, “I don’t think we should be making a habit of doing such a thing.” But as soon as he had you’d let out a little sharp breath and his eyes had gone to you again, and as soon as they had he’d known that he’d just made things even worse. So, as a greater part of him became filled with panic, he’d added, “You’re welcome to stay in my bed for tonight though,” and, “I can take your one upstairs if that would be all right?” hoping against hope that, that would not only make things a bit better with you but also enable him to get out of his room more quickly. But he’d seen the disappointment clearly on your face and so he’d inwardly cursed himself for making you feel such a thing. Then, wanting to at least show you that he was there for you, albeit in a more distant way then you’d like, he’d asked you, “Do you need anything?” and added, “I can get you something if you’d like.” But still no words had come from you and you’d just shaken your head. So, knowing that, as much as it had pained and frustrated him, he wouldn't be able to make up for his behaviour with you right then, he’d simply taken one last long, hard look at you, before he’d turned and hurried out of there. Of course though he hadn't even been able to do that without further embarrassing himself, for he’d stubbed his toe against the door, whilst he’d switched the light off. So he’d sworn softly, before he’d opened his mouth instinctively to apologize to you for saying such a word. But then, deciding that he’d embarrassed himself enough in front of you that night as it was without actually drawing attention to one of those embarrassments, he’d just left you without another word. 

 

He’d heard the sob that had escaped from your lips a moment later and it had taken a great deal of willpower for him not to-as his body thrummed with energy-just turn around, storm back in there and take you in his arms and apologize to you a thousand times, for any hurt that he’d just caused you without actually mentioning to you why he’d just acted the way that he had. But a bigger part of him, and the part of him that had still been clinging on to sense, had known that, that wouldn't be wise and that if he went back in there right then he’d probably just end up making you even angrier than you were no doubt already with him. So instead he’d just curled his hands up into fists, before he’d marched out of the dining room and hurried upstairs. 

 

Once he’d got there though he hadn't gone to your bedroom straight away. Instead he’d strode to the bathroom, and he’d felt glad that he hadn't seen anyone else on his way, before he’d locked himself inside. 

 

He wasn't as hard as he’d once been, not after he’d disappointed you like that, but he’d still been harder than he’d like to have been. So, driven by frustration and a desire to get the feeling out of him, he’d tugged down his underwear, and he’d gasped a little as his underwear had caught against his erection, before he’d gasped again as his erection had sprung free. Then he’d stepped inside the shower and started to pump himself. 

 

It hadn't taken long to get the release that he’d been seeking. Not when his hand had been frantically working away at himself so that he could climax and just be able to think about what he was supposed to do regarding you in a more coherent fashion. But he’d still felt that sense of frustration even once he’d climaxed and his juices had trickled down over his hand. So, with his bottom half still bare, he’d turned and slammed his hands numerous times in frustration against the shower wall, and his mouth had gasped out as he’d done so each time. Then he’d even added a kick for good measure. But instead of making him feel better that had just made him let out a gasp-followed by another swear word-in pain. And then he’d thought that he better stop trying to abuse the wall after that because it was clearly doing him more harm than good, so he’d tidied himself and the shower up a bit and tugged his underwear back on. 

 

But, as he’d lied in your bed that night he hadn't got much sleep at all. Not when he’d felt so guilty, ashamed of himself and worried about what had just transpired. For what must you think of him? He wondered. For he’d been the one making you promise to wake him, the one who’d complained when you hadn't, and the one who had felt frustrated and almost resentful at you not doing such a thing. And then when you’d finally decided to honour that promise, at least for one night anyway, he’d turned his back on you without even an apology or an explanation. And then after that his mind had gone on to worry about how bad your nightmare must have been that night for you to actually have come and sought him out when you hadn’t done so before, which had just led on to him worrying about how he’d probably just exacerbated your already emotional state and made things even worse. For he hadn't even asked you about the nightmare. Hadn't even mentioned it. And for a moment he’d wondered if he should go back downstairs and try to make amends with you. Or, if you’d already gone back to sleep, at least keep an eye on you just in case you had another nightmare. And the thought of you having such a thing and the idea that if you did then it might have been triggered by him upsetting you on top of everything else that you’d already been through that night had just made him feel even worse. But in the end, like the coward that he ultimately felt he was, he’d just stayed where he was and stared hopelessly at the ceiling in the dark until finally sleep had captured him. 

 

He’d felt uneasy when he’d woken up that morning though. Not to mention slightly disorientated at first, before he’d sat up a little and remembered that he was in your room. But then when he’d remembered _why_ he was there he’d just slumped back down and tugged at his hair a little frantically, whilst a soft groan of weariness had escaped his lips. And for the first time in a while, perhaps since he’d gotten out of hospital and found you gone, he hadn't wanted to get up. And _especially_ , he hadn't wanted to face you. Hadn't wanted you questioning him like you no doubt would and you asking him what the hell last night had been about. Hadn't wanted to face the fact that he’d disappointed you so badly and that he’d quite frankly been a terrible boyfriend to you when you’d needed him as much as you clearly had the previous night.

 

But in the end, resigned to the fact that he’d had no choice, he’d got up. And it had only been then that he’d realized that in his haste to leave you the previous night he hadn't brought any clothes up with him for that morning. So, for the third time in not even twenty-four hours, he’d let out a soft curse. 

 

Then, whilst he’d hoped that he wouldn't run into anyone, especially not you, he’d made up your bed quickly, before he’d gone downstairs. 

 

Unfortunately for him though when he’d got into the dining room Gregory had been lounging back on one chair, which he’d tilted back onto two legs, whilst he ate a piece of toast. And his hair had been messy, whilst a boyish sort of grin had lit up his face when he’d seen him. 

 

Then, “God sometimes it’s like you’re all playing a game of musical beds,” Gregory had exclaimed, before he’d added, “F/N just darted out of your room and hurried into the downstairs bathroom a couple of minutes ago,” with a bit of a mischievous smile and a wink. But then when he’d caught sight of the way Mycroft’s face had turned more serious at his words and the way that he’d made to bite at his lip, he’d asked, “Everything’s all right though isn't it?” before he’d added, “Now I mean?” For no doubt he’d thought that you’d suffered a nightmare during the night and that Mycroft had comforted you, before he’d let you take his bed for the night. 

 

Yet of course that hadn't been precisely true so Mycroft had just waved a hand at him and then hurried into his room. For until he saw you he wouldn't know just how not right things were between you. 

 

But he’d been convinced that he’d heard Gregory let out a rather sarcastic, “Charming,” from behind him as he’d closed the door behind him. 

 

Then the first thing that he’d seen was that you’d left his bed unmade so he’d let out a bit of a sigh, before he’d decided to ignore it for the moment and just get dressed instead. 

 

Yet he’d only pulled his trousers on and he’d just been about to do up the last of the buttons on his shirt when his bedroom door had opened suddenly and you’d burst in. 

 

You’d stopped dead at the sight of him, still in your pyjamas and with your hair a little tousled, despite the fact that you’d just been to the bathroom. Whilst his hands had stilled at the base of his neck as they clutched on to the top of his buttons. 

 

Then, “Oh, I was just going to do the bed,” you’d told him, as you’d gestured at said bed behind him. 

 

And he’d studied you for a moment, and as he had your lips had closed so for a moment you’d both just stared at each other very seriously. 

 

Then, when he’d felt like he should say something, he’d said, “I can do it, it’s fine,” as he’d done up his top button, whilst he still looked at you. 

 

And you’d just looked at him for another moment, before you’d nodded uncertainly at him. Then, “Oh, um, okay then, I’ll just go and change,” you’d said a little awkwardly. 

 

But still you’d hesitated and not moved so he’d said, “Okay,” softly, before he’d given you a stiff sort of nod. 

 

And you’d nodded rather awkwardly at him again, before you’d stumbled backwards out of there. 

 

You hadn't seen each other again until you’d both been sat at the dining table for breakfast, and every time you’d opened your mouth Mycroft had felt himself stiffening a little, as he’d braced himself for you to mention something about the previous night, despite the fact that he’d felt pretty certain that you wouldn't do so in front of the others. And when you’d asked him to pass the milk jug his, “Here,” as he’d done so had come out rather stiffer than he’d like. But perhaps that had been because at the very least he’d been expecting you to ask him if he could have a word with you. So when you hadn't and when you’d just acted rather awkwardly around him instead he’d found himself wondering more about what might be going on in your mind rather than worrying about the exam he had that morning. 

 

His slightly odd behaviour, along with yours, hadn't gone unnoticed though. For when you’d all been getting up and rushing off to fetch what you needed to take with you that day Gregory had grabbed hold of Mycroft’s arm and asked, “Is everything all right?” and then when Mycroft had sent a rather cautious look towards the door, which you’d just disappeared out of with Molly, before he’d looked back at Gregory, Gregory had gone on a little awkwardly, “Only it’s just both F/N and you have been acting a little odd around each other this morning,” and then, “Have you fallen out?” he’d asked. 

 

But Mycroft had just sent another look towards the door, whilst he’d chewed at his lip, before he’d looked back at Gregory as he’d said, “I'm not entirely sure.”

 

And Gregory had scrunched up his face a little bit at that remark, before he’d asked Mycroft a little more impatiently, “Well, is she angry with you about something?” 

 

But again Mycroft hadn't really been sure how to answer that. So in the end he’d just settled on pulling a bit of a face, before he’d said quickly, “Perhaps we can discuss it on the way?” in a low voice as he’d heard both Molly and you approaching the dining room again. 

 

Then when you’d both entered Molly had stopped, before she’d shaken her head with a sort of fond exasperation at Gregory. And then, “You haven’t even gone to fetch your things yet,” she’d said, which had made Gregory give her a bit of a grin. Something, which he’d done even more of when Molly had approached him and kissed him on the lips just a moment later. And Mycroft had found himself watching them enviously for a moment, because everything seemed so straightforward for them. They could just go up and kiss each other and be so natural in front of each other, which was a far cry from how complicated things always seemed to be between him and you. But then, as he’d realized what he was doing he’d looked away from them quickly. And as he’d done so and his eyes had fallen on you automatically he’d spotted that you were looking away from the kissing couple too. Then for a moment you’d caught each other’s eyes, before you’d looked quickly away from each other again, you with a distinct blush on your face. 

 

And then when Molly had finally drawn back from Gregory, and Mycroft had noticed that both of them had looked considerably more pleased and flushed than they had done earlier on, Molly had patted her boyfriend on the chest, before she’d told him, “F/N and I are going to go ahead, so good luck for this morning.”

 

But, “Don’t I get a good luck kiss?” Gregory had asked her a little cheekily, rather than wishing Molly good luck too because Molly hadn't had an exam herself that morning. 

 

Yet, “That _was_ your good luck kiss,” Molly had replied with a bit of a giggle, whilst she’d patted him on the chest again, this time as if he was being silly, and Gregory had worn a pleased grin on his face. But then Molly had drawn back from him a little and taken both Mycroft and you in for a moment, before she’d asked, “Aren't you going to wish each other well then?”

 

So Mycroft and you had looked at each other tentatively again for a moment. Then you’d both taken a few awkward steps towards each other, before Mycroft had supposed that he better give you a sort of good luck kiss himself. So he’d bent down rather stiffly, before he’d kissed you a little roughly on the cheek. Then he’d murmured, “Good luck F/N,” with his mouth close to your ear, before he’d pulled back again. 

 

So, “Thanks, you too,” you’d told him quickly, before you’d smiled at each other a little uncertainly. Then you’d gone back to looking away from each other once more and Mycroft had caught Gregory and Molly exchanging a look full of raised eyebrows as you’d both done so. 

 

And as soon as their possessions had been grabbed hold of and they’d begun to walk up to the university [Mycroft had been able to make out you and Molly a little way ahead of them in the distance] Gregory had asked, “So the reason why you and F/N were acting like you didn't know how to deal with each other this morning was?”- and Mycroft had swallowed. 

 

Then he’d run a flustered kind of hand through his hair, before he’d found your figure with his eyes again. And then as his eyes had moved away from you and simply focused on the pavement a bit ahead of them he’d confessed, “It’s a little embarrassing actually,” and just the thought of what had happened had made his cheeks feel warm. 

 

But though Gregory’s lips had twitched without being able to help it he’d chosen to reserve judgement when he’d said, “Go on,” quite firmly. 

 

And again Mycroft had run his hand through his hair, before he’d finally looked at Gregory and said in a low voice, “F/N had another nightmare last night and she came to my room.”

 

But, “That’s good isn't it? Her going to you for help?” Gregory had asked him then, and clearly he still hadn't been able to see what the problem was. 

 

So Mycroft had huffed out a bit of a breath and blushed a little, before he’d confessed, “Usually I’d agree,” and then as Gregory had looked at him curiously he’d fumbled out, “But I wasn't exactly, um, having a dream free night myself”-

 

And Gregory’s eyes had gone wide as he’d exclaimed, “Oh God, don’t tell me that this is going where I think it is?” between a bit of laughter, which had irritated Mycroft a little and only caused the blush on his face to grow. 

 

Then, “So, um, anyway, she’d got into bed with me and when I woke I was all”- Mycroft had begun with a bit of a wave of his hands, before he’d broken off awkwardly. Then, when he hadn't been able to find the words he’d gone on, “Well, I'm sure you can guess what I was without me having to tell you,” with a knowing kind of embarrassment as he’d let out a bit of a breath. But then he’d protested, “It’s not funny Gregory!” just a moment later when Gregory’s laughter had become even more pronounced, and then, “I felt terrible about it, I still do,” he’d confessed. 

 

Yet Gregory had just continued to laugh for a moment, before as he’d got himself under better control he’d said, “I'm sorry, it’s just that something like that could only happen to F/N and you,” and then he’d said, “And it is funny, it’s bloody hilarious actually.” But then upon seeing how troubled Mycroft still looked about it all he’d asked as seriously as he could, “So, um, what happened then? Did she find out about your, erm, your problem?” yet there’d still been a bit of a grin toying about his lips. 

 

And Mycroft had blushed even more furiously and rolled his eyes a little once he’d seen it. Then he’d shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he’d breathed, “Thankfully no,” before he’d gone on in a stronger, more anxious voice, “But I could tell that she was disappointed with me.” For he’d hated to think about what you’d thought of his actions last night. And then when Gregory had looked at him questioningly again he’d confessed, “She wanted me to hold her,” which had just made another burst of laughter leave Gregory’s lips. And hearing such a thing had made Mycroft roll his eyes again. But then he’d worn a little smile on his face in spite of himself when he’d blurted out, “Gregory this is serious, she was really upset,” which in turn had just made Gregory grin at him. 

 

Then, “Serious, right, of course,” Gregory had nodded, as he’d attempted to make his face even once more but he’d failed spectacularly. 

 

So Mycroft had found himself rolling his eyes again, before, in an attempt to get things onto a more serious line he’d mused, “But what I'm _really_ confused about is why she didn't say anything to me about it this morning,” and then, “I’d expected her to be very angry with me,” he’d confessed. 

 

And Gregory, no doubt trying to be as serious as Mycroft had wanted him to be, had taken a moment to think about what had just been said. Then he’d commented more reasonably, “Well, if she doesn't know why you behaved a little, erm, _differently_ , then maybe she doesn't know _what_ she’s supposed to be angry with you about.” And that had been something, which had been so remarkably logical and which had made such a lot of sense that Mycroft had just stared at him for a moment. And seeing such a thing had made Gregory smile at him again. Then, as he’d attempted to continue that new logical way of thought he’d said, “So if she doesn't end up questioning you or getting angry with you about it like you’d thought she would then what would you want to happen next instead of all that?”

 

And Mycroft had taken a sensible moment just to think about that particular question, but really the answer had come to him quite easily. So it hadn't been long before he’d said, “Well, what I’d want is for what happened to be forgotten about and for us to just carry on as normal,” with a bit of a shrug. 

 

And Gregory had nodded then, before he’d told him, “Well, perhaps that’s what you should try to do.”

 

So Mycroft had tried to do that. And he’d asked you about how your exams had gone the next time that he’d seen you with as much concern, as he liked to think that he would have shown even if the previous night hadn't happened. Whilst he’d tried to be helpful when he’d gone over your preparation for your next exam that night, albeit a little more helpful than he’d even usually be, because he’d been able to tell that you were still wondering about his odd behaviour and knowing such a thing had just made him want to make things up to you and prove himself to you even more. And so he’d been pleased when things had slowly shifted back into a normal state between you once more over the next couple of days, and when there’d been no awkwardness behind your eyes whenever you’d spoken to him or looked at him. For hopefully that meant that, that incident was behind you both and that you could both just move on from it without him ever having to tell you the cause of his peculiar behaviour. 

 

But still he’d sensed that sometimes you wanted more from him than what he seemed capable of giving you. For though he’d attempted to reassure you that you’d be liked by his parents, and then tried to make you feel better about leaving the house, which you had clearly grown more fond of than even he’d first thought, he’d felt a sense of sadness radiating from you sometimes. And whenever he’d felt such a thing his mind had gone back to Moriarty’s words in spite of himself and how Moriarty had said himself that he’d been able to feel such a feeling coming from you sometimes. And remembering such words and feeling such a thing silently pouring from you had only made the sense of frustration, not to mention bitterness that even Moriarty still seemed to know you better than he did, fill him even more. For he’d wished that you’d just talk to him when you felt like that. Wished that you’d let him share in your sense of sadness and despair rather than just leave him feeling helpless and wishing that he could say something profound, which would instantly unlock you and make you feel like you could confide in him about anything. 

 

And so one night when you’d been staying in the hotel in Brighton and he’d been sliding a little forwards in his chair, about to get up and leave you, for finally your breaths had grown even as you’d fallen asleep, he’d hesitated and just watched you for another moment. 

 

You’d been on your side, your body curved towards him, your lips slightly parted as they let out your soft breaths and your hair splayed out a little across your cheek. But there had been a sense of something uncomfortable flickering beneath your eyelids. And so Mycroft had just stared at you for yet another moment as he’d worried that you were having a nightmare already, which had led him on to worrying about whether or not he should try and wake you up. But then he’d dismissed both ideas, for you’d only just fallen asleep after all so you could not possibly be having a nightmare already. And then, in the next moment, he’d found himself wondering how it was possible for someone to look so beautiful yet so troubled at the same time. 

 

Then, as his mind had gone back to how he wished that you’d confide in him once more he’d breathed, “I wish you’d just let me in more F/N,” and then as he stared at you thoughtfully he’d gone on, “I know you find it hard to speak about what happened, and I don’t want you to get upset about it all again, but…you feel so sad sometimes my dear. And when you do I wish that you’d let me help you. Why won’t you? Is it because I still need to prove myself to you? Still need to show you that I always intend to be there for you? Because if it is, if that’s what it simply comes down to, then I can do that. I can show you that I’ll be there for you…I can make you see that you’ll never have to worry about such a thing ever again,” and then, out of words, he’d finally heaved himself to his feet with a bit of a sigh. Then he’d pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, before he’d left the room. 

 

*

 

On the train ride home Mycroft had hoped so many things. He’d hoped that his parents would like you and that they’d be accepting of you. He’d hoped that Sherlock wouldn't make too much of a nuisance of himself that summer as he tended to do. He’d hoped that you’d like the cottage and your room, and that, more importantly, you’d like his parents and get along well with them. And he’d hoped that he’d be able to keep you entertained and that you’d enjoy yourself. How he’d hoped that you’d enjoy yourself! For he hadn't been able to imagine anything sweeter than seeing you smile and laugh more and seeing you having fun and getting along with his family. But he’d soon come to see that, in that particular moment at least, you’d been more anxious about the prospect of everything than carefree. So once more he’d pushed his own worries aside and tried to cheer you up. But, even after he’d tried to do so, you’d still looked ill at ease. So, as it had come to him that physical comfort might be the best option in that moment, he’d pulled you as close to him as he could, before he’d started to run a soothing hand through your hair. And he’d felt pleased that he’d done such a thing when you’d smiled that pretty smile of yours at him, before you’d rested your head down against his shoulder. So he’d shifted a little to accommodate you better, before he’d closed his eyes a little and just tried to savour this moment of being close to you, even though he could both tell and feel that you were still nervous about things. Still, if he had to cope with any negative energy coming from you he’d take you being nervous over you being sad any day. For at least he had a better chance of cheering you up that way. 

 

Yet even that had seemed an impossible task that day, and despite his best efforts you’d become tense again by the time that the train pulled into the station. Still though, he’d felt pleased with the way that you meeting Father had gone. For despite your flustered state you’d been polite and courteous all the time and you’d seemed to have taken to each other fairly well.

 

Mummy though. Well, he’d known that she might, in her more forceful ways caused by her excitement prove a little more challenging for you. So when his father had basically told you such a thing and Mycroft had seen you only get more nervous he’d tried to keep you busy by getting you all moving more. Whilst similarly, in his father’s car, he’d tried to draw you into conversation and he’d felt pleased when his father had taken up that task too. 

 

But in the present now Mycroft lets out a bit of a sigh, which causes Sherlock to look at him again. Mycroft however just ignores his brother’s gaze and goes back to his thoughts. For he supposes now that perhaps he should have taken the fact that you’d clearly felt so uncomfortable at his mother’s initial eagerness as yet another warning sign that you weren't yet ready to let anybody too close to you. Not even a family who, by and large, was thrilled to meet you. And he wonders now, when he’d found you out gazing at the stars that night, whether he should have tried to talk to you then about why you still clearly found it so difficult to talk and let people in, despite the fact that there was a good support network in place for you at last. Wondered if he should have tried to understand you more in that particular moment. And perhaps if he’d known what the future would hold and just how little you’d get moments on your own together that summer then he would have. But in his defence too it hadn't been as if nothing else had happened between you initially meeting his parents and him finding you out underneath the stars. For you’d both gone on that rather disastrous tour of the cottage after all. Disastrous because of the fact that Sherlock had been leading it. And it still makes him blush in the present to think about how he’d had to explain to you about how Mummy had come to know about the shower incident and about Mummy’s behaviour afterwards. Not to mention the fact that he’d had to endure that horrific dinner. And just the thought of it makes him groan a little, which in turn causes Sherlock to look at him in alarm. But for a moment Mycroft just gives his brother a dark look. For that had been another thing that had been his fault. Though it hadn't been like he hadn't mentioned such a thing to his brother at the time of course. 

 

For as soon as Mummy and you had left he’d barely started drying up the dishes, before he’d rounded on Sherlock, who’d been stood with his hands plunged into the soapy water as they’d washed up the cutlery first. Then he’d stated coolly, “I hope, for John’s sake as much as your own, that one day you’ll be able to better control your jealousy and not have to hurt other people because of it”-

 

Yet Sherlock had just interrupted his words with a snort, which had made Mycroft’s eyes flash in a rather dangerous fashion. Then Sherlock had said, “Oh, stop acting so damn aggrieved Mycroft,” in a tone, which had suggested that he’d been fed up with his brother’s behaviour and not only that but the way that Mycroft, instead of just snapping angrily with him always seemed to find a way of announcing his displeasure in a tone, which held so much self-worth and general evenness about it. 

 

But there had been a bit more bite to Mycroft’s voice when he’d said, “I'm not worried about how you made _me_ feel Sherlock,” for he’d been used to his brother making him feel bad after all, and, “I'm worried about how you made _F/N_ feel.” And then his hands had stilled on drying up a plate so that he could just concentrate on giving his brother a rather dark, reproachful glare. Then, when Sherlock had just made a disparaging sort of noise in his throat, whilst he’d stared into the washing up bowl, Mycroft had got to the heart of the problem with the words, “Quite frankly I'm astonished that _you_ , knowing what you do, and _knowing_ how uncomfortable it would make F/N feel at you bringing such a thing up, dared to bring that matter up at all,” and then, “I thought you wanted to be a better friend to her than that,” he’d finished with a flourish. 

 

Yet although Sherlock had cast him a bit of a dark look, before he’d swung his head around to the other side, whilst his hands stilled in the water, Mycroft had been able to tell from his brother’s prominent silence that his words had found their mark.

 

And then, “I _have_ tried to be a good friend to her,” Sherlock had finally attempted as he’d looked back at his brother once more, before he’d gone on, “I brought her to you after Moriarty had been there, _and_ I woke you whenever I heard that she was having a nightmare”- in an attempt to prove such a thing. 

 

“But you haven’t been a good friend to her tonight Sherlock, that’s the point,” Mycroft had interrupted his brother, and Sherlock’s mouth had opened automatically then, before he’d closed it and gone on to bite at his lip instead. And then Mycroft had huffed out a bit of a breath, before he’d gone on, “You were selfish, you knew that your words would embarrass her, and not only that but you knew that your words had the potential to hurt her, and still you said them. Even though you knew that it would bring back unpleasant memories for her, and not only that but draw our parents attention to them.” And then after he’d let out a bit of a breath he’d gone on, “I know, now that Moriarty’s out of the picture a bit and now that things, for you at any rate, have calmed down a little, that matters that were once important to you might not now seem so great, but I am asking you to _please_ respect the fact, for F/N’s sake if not for mine, that to her mind they are still very much there and a present part of her life.” Then, when he’d seen how suddenly awkward and uncomfortable his brother had looked and seen how once more his words had made an impact on him, he’d let out another breath, before he’d said, “But that isn't to say either, that just because you made a mistake tonight, that I'm not still grateful or proud of how you behaved where F/N was concerned in the past year because I am. You did more to help her than you could possibly know. I’d just appreciate if you could carry on doing so.” Yet then, as Sherlock’s lips had parted, Mycroft, as his mind had continued down its troubled path, hadn't been able to stop himself from voicing, “I just hope that you haven’t caused too much damage already and served to make things awkward between F/N and Mummy, because if you have”-

 

But, “Even if I have how exactly are you going to make me pay for it Mycroft?” Sherlock had asked, before it had been his turn once more to vent out some of his anger when he’d snapped, “By making the summer miserable for me? Because it can’t possibly be any more pathetic than it already is when I'm trapped here and when I won’t see John for any of it”-

 

Yet it had been Mycroft’s turn to let out a snort then and time for Sherlock’s eyes to flash. 

 

Then, “Of course you’ll see John at some point,” Mycroft had gone on, before at his brother’s disbelieving expression he’d asked, “Do you really think that with you both being determined to see each other that you’ll really not end up doing so?” 

 

And once more Sherlock had opened his mouth to protest and to perhaps suggest that maybe John wasn't as keen or as able to meet up with him as he was with John. But then in the next moment something about his face had softened and he’d smiled a small smile as finally he’d come to see the truth of his brother’s words. 

 

Then, _“There,”_ Mycroft had said in both a firm and a calming fashion. 

 

So for a moment the brothers had just continued with their respective duties. 

 

But then Sherlock had swung his head towards him once more and asked, “Have you really, y’know, not slept with F/N in that way?” and he’d done so a little awkwardly. 

 

So, “You know full well that our relationship is yet to progress that far I'm sure,” Mycroft had replied in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 

And, “I thought so,” Sherlock had nodded, but then, “At least you've shared a bed,” he’d said, and as Mycroft had watched his face carefully he’d felt sure that in that moment Sherlock was wishing that the same could be said of him and John and perhaps wishing to know what it would feel like to hold and smell John just before they both fell asleep. 

 

Yet even though Mycroft had been able to follow the path that his brother’s thoughts had headed down that hadn't stopped him from sighing, “If only we could have done so in happier circumstances,” for part of him had wanted Sherlock, in that moment, to try and understand that although it had been a sweet and tender moment between the pair of you it had hardly been an ideal or blissful experience considering the way that you’d been feeling then. The way that you _still_ seemed to be feeling… 

 

Yet his words had barely hovered in the air for more than a mere moment when the back door had slammed, and Mycroft had nearly dropped the saucepan that he’d been drying as a result, before he’d turned instinctively. 

 

And a painful kind of grimace runs across his face in the present now as he remembers how you’d looked then. For you’d looked so hurt and angry, not to mention tired of everything. And he remembers how he’d heard Sherlock let out a little breath at the sight of you. 

 

But he’d had to do more than that. So he’d stepped towards you and asked, “F/N, what’s wrong?” 

 

Yet all you’d said was, “I just want to go and unpack,” before you’d strode out of the kitchen without another word. 

 

And Mycroft had stared after you concernedly for a moment. Then as soon as Mummy had entered the kitchen a couple of moments later from the same door that you’d done so, he’d asked her with a bit of a frown, “Mummy what did you say to F/N?” 

 

Yet, “Perhaps we should go for a walk now Mycroft,” had been all that Mummy had said. 

 

So he’d abandoned the rest of the drying up and left Sherlock to tut as he put the dishcloth aside. Then he’d followed Mummy outside. 

 

It had been a while before either of them had said anything, and Mycroft had been able to tell by the thoughtful look that had been on Mummy’s face and by the way that her lips had slightly shifted that she’d been considering the best way to tell him what she wanted to. 

 

But finally, after they’d gone around a couple of bends in the road and put the cottage far out of sight behind them, Mycroft hadn't been able to wait any more. So he’d stopped walking, before he’d said a little cautiously, “F/N looked really upset Mummy,” as she’d stopped too and they’d turned towards each other. 

 

Yet, “I only told her what I needed to Mykie,” Mummy had replied a little curtly. 

 

But Mycroft had been rather firm himself when he’d commented, “I guess that I'm just wondering what words in particular you used when you spoke to her.”

 

And Mummy had just clutched at his arm and looked into his eyes deeply for a few moments. Then, despite the fact that she’d already known the truth of such a thing by that point she’d asked, “There’s something going on with her isn't there? Something that neither of you want to tell us?” before as Mycroft swallowed she’d added more shrewdly, “She acted a little strange earlier when I asked her about her previous boyfriends, as if the question had upset her”-

 

And Mycroft had let out a bit of a groan without being able to help himself, before he’d run a frustrated hand back through his hair. For he could quite rightly imagine that, that question had upset you. But he’d known that he couldn't exactly explain the reasoning behind your actions coherently to Mummy either. So in the end he’d just sighed a bit, before he’d huffed out, “All you need to know is that F/N’s had a bit of trouble in her past, and there are things that she’s still recovering from”-

 

“But what concerns me is the effect that it’s having on you”-

 

And, _“I”-_ Mycroft had begun to protest. 

 

But, “Skipping lectures just so that you could chase after a girl to Brighton,” Mummy had said then with a bit of a shake of her head, before she’d gone on, “That’s not like you,” and, “That’s not the boy I raised,” she’d added in a bit of a despairing tone. 

 

And without being able to help it Mycroft had felt a sense of great disappointment in himself. For Mummy had never had cause to say such things to him before. In fact usually she was praising him and encouraging him. And he had hated the feeling that he’d disappointed her. Not to mention that he’d hated what it had made him feel like on the inside. But still he’d felt at the same time a sense of injustice and that he at the very least wanted to try and defend himself, you and the situation. So he’d said, “I care about her Mummy, I had to”-

 

“But how many classes did you miss by doing such a thing?” she’d interrupted him. 

 

And Mycroft had huffed out a breath, before he’d closed his mouth with a bit of a frustrated snap as he’d been forced to think about the matter. Then in the end he’d replied, “Three, perhaps four,” with a bit of a shrug as if it didn't really matter in the great scheme of things, which to him it didn't, for he hadn't felt as if anything that he’d missed had, had a detrimental effect on his exams. 

 

But Mummy hadn't been finished with that particular line of questioning, and she’d asked him, “Was there a seminar included in these?” 

 

And the way that she’d looked at him had made Mycroft confess honestly, “One,” which had caused Mummy to let out a bit of a tut, before she’d shaken her head again. 

 

Then, “And that’s not including what you missed because of the _pool_ incident,” she’d gone on, which had made Mycroft let out another frustrated huff. But Mummy hadn't been about to let go of his action as easily this time, so she’d said, “I think you think that I'm overreacting Mykie,” and her nickname for him had _definitely_ not come out as a term of endearment then. Yet, “Perhaps you’d think differently if I reminded you that since starting university, and since meeting that _girl_ , you've missed a larger amount of classes in one year than you've ever done in all your schooling years before that,” she’d concluded.

 

Yet, “You can’t possibly blame F/N for that Mummy”- Mycroft had begun to protest a little indignantly. 

 

But, “You wouldn't have missed some of them without the effect that she’s had on you now would you?” she’d returned just as quickly. 

 

So, “She never wanted me to go after her to Brighton, I wanted to”- Mycroft had told her just as firmly. 

 

Yet Mummy hadn't been deterred and, “That’s another thing that concerns me,” she’d mused, and then when Mycroft had raised his eyebrows questioningly at her she’d explained more fully, “The way that, that girl seems to have got her claws into you”-

 

And, _“Mummy!”_ Mycroft had spluttered, and he’d felt absolutely horrified at how she’d begun to portray you, as if you were some sort of man-eater or something. 

 

Yet, “I'm only saying this because I care for you Mykie,” she’d told him a little pleadingly, before she’d gone on, “But we both know that what with this being the first relationship of that kind you've had, not to mention with the way that she got you chasing after her to Brighton”- and Mycroft had again opened his mouth to protest but Mummy had raised a finger to stop him-“And the way that she made you hold her in bed”-

 

“That was purely for reasons of comfort”- Mycroft had managed to get out then. 

 

But, “You can’t blame me for being concerned,” she’d told him in more of a raised voice, before she’d added, “Not when it’s clear that she’s already been pressurizing you into things that you’re not ready for”-

 

And the indignation that Mycroft had felt had reached its peak then. So, not being able to take any more, he’d said, “I’ll judge what I am or aren't ready for, and _I’ll_ make the decision of how I proceed with my education and what actions might or might not damage it,” in a tone that had been full of a firm kind of frustration. 

 

But, “Mycroft Holmes!” Mummy had exclaimed scornfully, and Mycroft had been able to tell that he’d surprised her with both his tone and words from the way that her nostrils had flared and her eyes had widened. 

 

Yet he’d felt an odd sort of accomplishment at saying what he had to her, so he’d just said a rather firm, “I'm sorry Mummy, but the way that you’re portraying F/N isn't right, it just isn't,” and then he’d shaken his head as if to properly demonstrate just how much he disagreed with her points. 

 

But Mummy had just squeezed his arm, before she’d told him a little desperately, “I just don’t want you to get hurt because of her Mykie, or because of what she’s been through, I don’t want you to feel _pain_ like that”-

 

Yet, “I can look after myself Mummy,” Mycroft had told her firmly then, before he’d tugged his arm free from her grasp. And she’d tried to take hold of it again, but before she’d been able to Mycroft had huffed out a bit of a breath. Then he’d told her, “I appreciate your concern for me, really I do, but you’re worrying about things that aren't true, things that don’t even exist. And when it comes down to it the fact is that F/N’s a much better person than you seem to think she is”-

 

Yet, “Even with her past?” Mummy had interrupted him. 

 

So, “Even with her past,” Mycroft had confirmed, before he’d nodded at her and then turned so that he could begin to make his way back to the cottage. 

 

And he’d been able to feel her eyes on his back as he’d done so but he hadn't turned around again. For he’d felt too angry and sad with the way that things seemed to have turned out to do so. Too angry and sad because hadn't he tried hard enough to answer Mummy’s questions about you on the phone before the holidays had even started? Hadn't he tried to paint a picture of how you were? And he’d tried to paint a full one at that in the hope that Mummy would remember such words and be able to see the truth in them if she were to ever feel that you were just a little too mysterious for her liking. So why had she only been able to focus on the negatives about you and exaggerate them in her head until you turned into a different person completely? Had it just been her role as a mother getting in the way of her sensibilities? But even so why hadn't she been able to see your beauty like he could? Why hadn't she been able to see you like he could? And then, as his thoughts had turned even more despairingly towards you, he’d found himself worrying again about just what else Mummy might have said to you. For it was bad enough that she’d asked you about your previous boyfriends. But even more than that he’d hated the thought that she might have really upset you, and hated the thought that she’d simply added to the pain that you were already carrying inside of you.

 

And he hadn't been able to stop worrying about such a thing all night. Until finally he’d been so restless that he’d got out of bed and dressed fully apart from his shoes once more. Then, in an attempt to distract his mind from Mummy and you and even more than that from what conversation that he might be facing when he next saw you, for he was sure that you’d mention something about this situation and not just ignore it like you’d done when he hadn't been able to hold you before, he’d switched on the light by his desk and sat beside it as he’d tried to read a book that might prove useful to him on his university course next year. 

 

But it hadn't been long, and he’d only got past the introduction, before he’d started to shift his position restlessly once more, whilst the same old thoughts had begun to infiltrate his mind. So he’d looked up, before he’d pushed his book aside with a sigh. Then he’d got up and gone to look out of the window, and he’d shoved his hands in his pockets as he’d done so. And for a moment he’d done such a thing quite absent-mindedly, whilst he’d wondered about what you were doing and if you, yourself had been able to sleep. But then his head had shifted a little to one side and his eyes had squinted because he’d thought that he’d seen something moving. Yet it had been hard for him to tell with the light from the lamp reflecting against the window so he’d switched it off immediately. Then he’d shifted back to the window and waited a little impatiently for his eyes to adjust. But when he’d seen that it was you, you out there walking through the grass with nothing but a thin jacket on over your nightgown, he’d let out a soft curse, before he’d turned hurriedly away from the window and shoved his socked feet into his shoes. Then as he’d hurried out of the room and made to move both swiftly and silently out of the cottage he hadn't been able to help but think rather scornfully that he’d got his answer as to what you were doing and as to whether or not you’d been able to sleep. But also he hadn't been able to help but wonder too, with some frustration, why, despite everything you’d been through you always seemed to put yourself into situations where you could get even more hurt. Or at least ones where you made yourself even more vulnerable. And he hadn't even reached you yet but he’d found the whole thing quite maddening. For why did you insist on doing such things? Why did you have to act so recklessly? So stupidly? Why did you have to make him worry so?

 

And both his sense of worry and frustrated urgency had come out in his tone as soon as he’d stepped out behind you and called, _“F/N?”_ Yet although something had softened inside him when he’d seen the way that he’d clearly startled you as you wheeled around in a state he’d got into too much of a state himself by that point, so he’d asked, “What on earth are you doing out here?” 

 

And when you’d replied, “I wanted to see the stars,” as you’d waved a hand towards the sky that sense of maddening frustration that he’d felt towards you had just grown inside him even more. 

 

So he hadn't been able to tell you, “You could have seen them from the safety of your bedroom,” without it coming out a little bossy and firm. 

 

But, “It’s safe out here isn't it?” you’d asked him just a moment later, and he hadn't liked the expression that had been on your face. For it had told him that you weren't taking the situation seriously, or at the very least that you were deliberately trying to avoid the matter. And why couldn't you, in that moment, just see and understand that he hadn't followed you out there to be annoying, but that rather he’d done so because he cared for you? So once more his voice had been firm when he’d said, “Yes so safe that, that’s why you startled so much when I called you just now.”

 

Yet his feelings had begun to shift again when you’d confessed, “I just couldn't sleep.” And then when you’d told him, “I went to the window and-and I've never _seen_ so many stars before,” as you’d waved your hands and stared up at the sky again his feelings had shifted completely and the edges of them had softened, tumbling down like a sandcastle that was slowly being eroded by the sea as all his defences came down once more. For he knew that you deserved a peaceful moment like this, of course he did, and he knew that you appreciated such beautiful things after the way that you’d watched the fireworks before. But at the same time he hadn't been able to wish that you could experience such a moment without making him worry endlessly about you at the same time. 

 

And it had perhaps been both a mixture of these things, of his affection for you and his worry for you, that had made him, when you’d looked at him again, step forwards. That which had made the words, “I couldn't sleep either,” fall out of his mouth and that, which had made him reveal, “I was a little concerned about what Mummy might have said to you, and I couldn't very well have spoken to you about it earlier because we would have had to leave the bedroom door open.” But then, having just realized what he’d said he’d become a little embarrassed again. For he’d never been in this kind of situation before. He’d never been subjected to Mummy telling him about new rules-like keeping his bedroom door open if you were both inside it. And the newness and freshness of it all had made him feel self-conscious again about his lack of experience, not to mention that it had made him feel very self-aware of the oddness of the whole thing. But again, although it worried him that you’d be put off by such feelings, he’d felt more of an overwhelming need to reassure you that he wasn't arguing with you right then about you making him worry. So he’d taken your hands in his. 

 

Then he’d listened as you’d said, “I think she thinks I'm the type of person who sleeps around,” and he’d felt both a sense of gratitude that you were opening yourself up more to him and a great sense of sadness at you coming out with such things. And overall it had been that sense of sadness between you both that he’d wanted to get rid of or at the very least dissipate the best that he could that had made him open his mouth automatically. But then, as an even more crushing sense of sadness had hit him at the realization that, that was indeed what Mummy thought he’d breathed out, “I'm sorry F/N,” instead.

 

Yet he’d just felt surprise a moment later when you’d smiled, and he’d felt even more of such a thing when you’d looked up at him and blurted out, “I'm sorry if you felt I was pushing you into holding me at the hotel”-

 

But at your words once more he’d felt that urge to reassure you. So despite his feelings of surprise he’d shaken his head to get you to stop talking, and then he’d said, “I didn't then and I don’t now,” before as your face had wavered with emotion he’d murmured, “Shh, shh,” whilst his hand had gone up to cup your cheek. 

 

Then he’d felt a bit of relief when you’d let out a bit of a giggle. But he’d been able to tell that you were still feeling emotional about everything so he’d simply stroked your cheek for a moment. Then, as he’d let go of you he’d listened as you’d told him, “I suppose I can’t blame her really, not when she doesn't know everything and we can’t exactly tell her…”

 

And again he’d felt that urge, that _desperate_ desire to try and reassure you, so he’d put a hand on your waist to try and make things better by making his presence and his feelings more known to you. Then he’d told you, “I'm sure in time, even with her not knowing everything, once she gets to know you more she’ll start to trust you with me more and understand that you’re not that person,” and as he’d said them he’d been desperately hoping that they’d come true himself. 

 

And he could tell that your mind had been going down similar lines when you’d told him, “I hope so,” before you’d looked away from him again. 

 

And again Mycroft had felt that aching sense that no matter how hard he tried he wasn't able to do enough for you, and that perhaps he never would. So feeling a little desperate and in the hope that you’d look at him again he’d taken your hands and swung them back and forth a bit. But still you hadn't looked at him. So he’d asked you, “Why don’t we go back inside?” and finally you’d looked at him. But still you hadn't exactly looked particularly enthusiastic about his words. So, whilst he’d felt even more desperate and like he’d been losing you, he’d added, “You’ll catch your death out here.”

 

But still for a moment, as you’d just looked back up at the stars, he’d thought that you’d rejected the idea. Yet then you’d nodded. So it had been with some relief that he’d let go of your hands and turned. 

 

But in the present now he can’t help but wonder about what you’d been thinking at that point and whether you’d already started to feel that sense of frustration that you’d left him with despite the fact that you’d only been at the cottage for a few hours then. And he hoped that you hadn't. Yet in any case even if you had been feeling that sense of irritation with him you’d definitely been feeling it after you’d come back from a walk on your own a few days later. You’d certainly shown it anyway, and he remembers it now. 

 

It had been just after he’d finished sorting out the bins for Mummy when he’d first noticed that you didn't appear to be anywhere in the cottage any more. And he’d felt the same prickle of uneasiness and worry that he’d started to recognize that he felt whenever he didn't know where you were. So he’d gone to ask his brother if he knew of your location. But Sherlock had just complained at being interrupted during the middle of conducting one of his experiments in his death trap of a room, before he’d muttered that he’d spotted you heading off on a walk by yourself with a bit of a roll of his eyes. And so Mycroft had left his brother feeling both concerned and a little irritated with you. For you’d surely known that him sorting out the bins wouldn't take long so why hadn't you just waited for him to finish and then you could have gone off on such a walk together? Why had you just headed off by yourself? And then the thought that perhaps you weren't happy staying there had come to him and he hadn't been able to get it out of his head so he’d paced back and forth outside of the gate of the cottage for several minutes. As he’d done so he’d felt sure that he’d heard Mummy tutting, whilst he’d been able to see Father frowning concernedly in his mind along with Sherlock rolling his eyes. But all those things had seemed like minor trifles compared to the idea that you might not be happy staying there. That you, right at that very moment, might even be plotting a way to get out of there. Plotting the words to tell him such a thing. And such thoughts had made him groan out loud in frustration, before he’d whirled around. Yet he’d come to a sudden stop, blinked and let out a little breath of surprise just a moment later when he’d seen you stood there, and you’d looked a little awkward as you watched him. 

 

Then you’d run a flustered kind of hand back through your hair, before you’d said, “Hey,” as you’d watched him carefully, whilst you’d shifted your position slightly. 

 

Yet your casual kind of awkwardness had just served to infuriate him even more. For how could you be so blasé about things? Didn't you know how worried it made him feel whenever you disappeared from his sight? Whenever you just took off without a word? Didn't you have any idea of just how much you affected him? So, “Why didn't you wait for me to come with you?” he’d blurted out in frustration, and he’d been able to tell that you’d felt a little taken aback from the forceful tone that he’d asked such a thing with from the way that something like surprise had flickered across your face and the way that your lips had parted slightly. 

 

Yet rather than making you take things, and in particular take his feelings, more seriously, you’d been just as casual as you had been before when you’d said, “You were busy,” with a bit of a shrug, and Mycroft had felt his brow furrow at once. And even you must have suddenly realized that your words weren't good enough for him, for you’d added, “I just fancied a little walk that’s all, it’s no big deal.”

 

But, “I was worried”- he’d begun, for he’d wanted to try and make you understand. 

 

Yet, “Well you didn't need to be,” was all you’d said, before you’d left him behind and headed back inside the cottage. 

 

And again he hadn't been able to help but feel disappointed at the fact that you weren't letting him in, and not only that but at the fact that you seemed quite determined not to do so. 

 

Yet that hadn't stopped him from worrying or from wanting to at least try and get you to do so. So one day after lunch when he’d noticed you slip out of the door he’d finished the conversation that he’d been having with Mummy as quickly as he could, before he’d gone outside in an attempt to find you. Then he’d looked just down the road at first and in the direction that you usually came back from whenever you went off on a walk on your own. But you hadn't been there and he’d felt that you wouldn't have been able to travel much more quickly than him in the time that he’d given you and disappear completely. So, whilst he’d felt a little more worried and uncomfortable, he’d gone back to the cottage and hesitated outside its gate for a moment, and his body had shifted a little restlessly as he’d done so. Then, remembering that you’d been at the back of the cottage when you’d looked at the stars that night, and thinking that perhaps you might have gone exploring more in that direction he’d hurried around there. Again though you hadn't been anywhere in sight. So he’d moved a bit forwards through the grass tentatively. But the next thing he’d heard had been the clattering sound of someone as they opened one of the windows of the cottage behind him. So he’d turned around instinctively, and after doing so it had been to see that Sherlock was half-leaning out of the window. 

 

And Mycroft’s lips had only had time to part by the time Sherlock had said, “I saw her going off in the direction of the lake”-

 

Sherlock had never got the chance to say anything more though. For as soon as Mycroft had heard his brother’s words his eyes had widened in fear and he’d spun around, before he’d hurried up the hill. For the lake was in a part of the land that didn't belong to them, and although he’d spent many a summer dragging Sherlock back home after he’d sneaked down there, and perhaps the odd occasional day during the winter months when they’d stayed at the cottage too, this was an altogether different matter. For this was you and you were more vulnerable than Sherlock was and if someone were to yell at you or threaten you for being on their land then God knows what your reaction would be. And as his heart had increased its pace then he’d sped up, going from a fast walk and part jog to a full on jog. Then when he’d finally reached the point where he could see you as you sat by the lake he’d called out to you instinctively as he’d come to a bit of a breathless stop. And then, when he’d seen that you weren't just sitting by the lake but that you were talking on the phone to someone as you sat there, he’d felt a layer of fear encase his heart. For who were you on the phone too? Were you perhaps, at that very moment, calling for a taxi to take you away from there? To take you away from him? But then, as you’d turned around briefly, his mind had gone back to his mission of getting you back to a place of definite safety as soon as he could, so he’d hurtled down the hill towards you. Yet as soon as he’d reached you it had been the part of him that had felt a great frustration towards you for making him worry again and for putting yourself in an unnecessary situation like that, that had come back to the surface again. So as soon as you’d stood up he’d grabbed at your arm tightly, before he’d exclaimed, “You shouldn't be here, this part of the land doesn't belong to us.”

 

But it was only when you’d told him, “You’re hurting me,” that he’d realized just how firmly that he’d been holding you and his eyes had flashed with such a realization, before he’d let go of you. For hurting you in any fashion was of course the very last thing that he wanted to do no matter how much you worried him. So naturally he’d opened his mouth so that he could apologize to you. Yet, “I wasn't aware that the land belonged to anyone,” you’d told him a moment later as you folded your arms. Then you’d gone on, “It was just nice so I came and”-

 

But as soon as his fear of hurting you had rushed back to him so had all his others and Mycroft hadn't been able to cope any longer with the possibility that you might be leaving soon, so he’d cut you off with the words, “Who were you talking to?” 

 

And, “Molly,” you’d said as you’d unfolded your arms. 

 

And such a thing, quite naturally, after all his worried thoughts had surprised him so he’d simply said, _“Oh,”_ before he’d felt a weird sense of relief fill him a moment later at the fact that, for now at least, you wouldn't be leaving. But then, worried that you could see such a thing on his face and worried that you might be about to ask him about it, he’d questioned, “Um, how is she?” as naturally as he’d been able to manage, before you could. 

 

Yet a moment later when you’d said a rather quick and hurried, “Yeah, she’s fine,” before you’d quickly ducked down so that you could put your socks and shoes back on, the relief that he’d felt had changed into worry and concern for you once more. For he’d been able to tell that something wasn't right with you. Yet he’d sensed that whatever it was, at that moment, had more to do with Molly then with him. And that had just confused him even more. For did that mean that Molly had said something inappropriate to you? 

 

So, wanting you to open up with him and wanting more than anything to show you that no matter what was on your mind at present that he was there for you, he’d said, “Let me,” before he’d bent down so that he could assist you in putting your socks and shoes back on. 

 

But his hand had barely had a chance to reach towards your foot, before you’d snapped out a great, _“No!”_ and the sound of it had been like a gunshot breaking through the silence of the countryside. And it had startled him and made him stand up straight once more. Not to mention that it had made him feel both hurt and confused. For what had he done wrong then? He’d only been trying to help you, so why on earth had you felt the need to snap at him like that? And he’d felt rather worried that you might snap at him again but you’d simply said quietly, “It’s fine, I can do it myself,” before you’d done so and hurriedly made your way back to the cottage. 

 

And Mycroft had just stood there, staring after you for a moment, whilst he’d both wished that he knew what was going on in your head and what he’d just done wrong in your eyes. For it was starting to feel like, to him anyway, that his current approach of him trying to be there for you as much as possible wasn't working for you, or at the very least that parts of it weren't working for you even though he didn't know why that might be. And too he felt like he had absolutely no idea of what he should try and do instead. 

 

So by the time that he’d got back to the cottage, and with such thoughts swirling about in his head, he’d begun to feel very dispirited indeed. Something, which had led him to the kitchen and made him open the fridge door. Yet he’d only scanned its contents for a moment, before he’d closed the door again with a sigh. For not only was there nothing even vaguely indulgent in there but he’d got the feeling that he probably shouldn't be stuffing his face to try and deal with everything anyway. Not when he knew from previous experience that it would only offer a temporary release and make Mummy mad with him when she discovered that he’d ruined his appetite. So instead he’d gone to sit down by the kitchen table with a bit of a thump and a sigh. 

 

And he’d been brooding there for no more than two minutes when Father had come in. 

 

Father had stopped momentarily upon seeing him, and then he’d taken him in for a moment, before he’d continued to make some tea. 

 

And Mycroft had come to think that, that was that and that Father wasn't going to ask him about why he was so clearly troubled, when Father had put a gentle hand on his shoulder, before he’d put a fresh cup of tea down in front of him. 

 

Then when Mycroft had turned his head so that he could look at him Father had said quietly, “Come with me and bring that with you,” with a bit of a nod to the tea. 

 

And so Mycroft had swallowed, before he’d obliged, picked up his tea and followed his father out of the back door. As Father had begun to make his way carefully across the grass though Mycroft had begun to wonder where he was going, but then he’d come to a stop not far off the first hill, before he’d sat down cross legged on the grass. So Mycroft had followed suit cautiously a moment later, before he’d settled his cup of tea gingerly down there. Then Father had glanced at him for a moment, before he’d looked off towards the distance once more. So Mycroft, knowing that Father was waiting patiently for him to talk, had simply swallowed for a moment, before he’d stared down at the grass as he’d stated, “I don’t think F/N’s very happy here…”

 

And Father had just nodded thoughtfully to himself for a moment. Then, “Well, its only been a week,” he’d mused, before he’d added, “So it’s bound to feel a bit strange for her still at times.” Yet Mycroft had just shifted uneasily then. So seeing what was wrong with his son Father had said perceptively, “You’re worried that she wants to leave?” 

 

And, “Sometimes I think she might want to yes,” Mycroft had confessed after a prominent pause, and his hands had fiddled with the fabric of his trousers for a moment, before they’d stilled once more. For despite the fact that he’d had little proof to clearly demonstrate such a thing it was something that, what with you persistently going off on your own as if you didn't want to be part of the family and what with the way that you still didn't seem keen to let him in, not to mention the way that you’d snapped at him earlier, seemed to be a very true possibility. 

 

And again Mycroft’s father had taken a moment to think about things, before he’d suggested, “Well perhaps F/N would find things more comfortable if you took her out of the cottage for a bit?” and then, “Is there anything in particular that she enjoys doing?” he’d asked. 

 

And Mycroft had felt a brief spark of hope fill him for a moment, before he’d frowned a little more as he’d considered Father’s question. For he knew that you enjoyed reading of course, but that didn't exactly help with that particular situation. But then his mind had hit upon the perfect idea so his face had lit up once more, before he’d exclaimed, _“Swimming"_ , more to himself then to Father. And then he’d turned more towards Father so that he could properly explain, “She enjoys swimming.”

 

“So perhaps you could take her swimming then?” Father had suggested with a small smile on his face, before he’d added in more of a wry tone, “Just don’t tell your mother that I helped you come up with the idea.”

 

And Mycroft had given him a bit of a half-smile, before he’d clambered to his feet again.

 

Yet, “Mycroft?” Father had said, just as Mycroft had been about to pick up his tea and then move away, so Mycroft had looked back at him. Then he’d listened a moment later as Father had continued, “If I were you I’d also leave out my involvement if you discuss how you came up with the idea with F/N.” 

 

And Mycroft had thought about Father’s words for a moment, before he’d smiled and nodded. Then he’d been about to turn away again, before he’d looked back at his father and told him, “Thank you Father,” and Father had nodded. 

 

But as he’d been thinking over the matter in his room a few minutes later Mycroft had come to realize that even hitting upon that idea had left him with some problems. For the first issue he had of course was when he should suggest such an idea to you. And he’d decided quickly that he didn't want to do it before dinner just in case you were still cross with him. Yet even making that decision had made him frown a little. For he’d still had no idea of why you’d been cross with him in the first place. Then he’d thought that he might ask about the swimming thing straight after dinner. But at dinner you’d been quiet and you hadn't spoken to him at all. In fact you’d barely looked at him so that had put him off and made him even more hesitant about talking to you. Yet the fact that it had still been something in front of him that he’d had to face had just made him feel fidgety and even more restless. So he’d gone from sitting in the living room to his bedroom and then back again. Then he’d felt like he couldn't put it off any more because at that rate it would be too late to ask you today and there was no way that he wanted to spend the whole night thinking about it, so he’d swallowed and got up, before he’d adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. Then, after he’d taken a bit of a deep breath, whilst Father had stared at him encouragingly from where he’d been sitting down reading, Mycroft had gone out of the living room and walked towards your bedroom door. And then he’d just stopped for a moment outside the door and taken another deep breath. For judging by the way you’d been at dinner you still weren't in the best of moods and he didn't want you to snap at him again. But nor could he wait any longer, before breaching the topic of taking you swimming, so he’d let out a bit of a breath, before he’d knocked softly upon your bedroom door. 

 

Then he’d waited a moment, whilst he’d felt apprehensive, before he’d heard you say, “Come in.” 

 

So he’d swallowed and nodded to himself, gathering every ounce of his courage as he’d done so, before he’d begun to make his way cautiously into your room. 

 

Then he’d quite forgotten, at the sight of you sitting on the bed reading and with the thought of what he wanted to ask you so entrenched in his mind, about his mother’s open door policy, so he’d made to close the door behind him automatically. But then he’d heard his mother tell him, “Leave the door open Mykie,” as she’d been going past in the hallway, so he’d started a little, before he’d wondered if she’d deliberately chosen to go past in that moment. 

 

Yet when he’d done as his mother had wished and left the door slightly open, before his eyes had gone back to you, his mind had gone from his mother to you once more. And at the sight of you looking at him he’d felt rather tense and anxious again. So he’d simply swallowed and fidgeted with his hands for a moment. 

 

Then he’d begun, “I've been thinking,” before he’d continued, “After what happened earlier”- and your eyes had widened then and the sight of them doing so had just increased his anxiety. For he’d been messing up what he needed to say to you again he could tell. So when he’d gone on, “That if-if you wanted me to take you swimming some time then I could,” he’d done so with a faltering sort of quickness. For he’d both felt as if he needed to get the thing out as soon as possible and as if the words weren't quite decided upon enough in his head for him to be able to do so. And then, in an attempt to explain his thoughts further he’d added, “We could even go tomorrow if you’d like.” But then, at finally having got all of his suggestion out, he’d felt afraid that you’d snap at him again or reject his idea, so he’d added hurriedly, “Though I understand if you don’t want to, or if you think it’s a silly idea. I just thought…because you used to like it and everything, that you might…but it doesn't matter if you don’t want to…”

 

And he’d felt only more apprehensive when, instead of talking to him, you’d just put your book aside, before you’d swung off the bed and approached him. For were you getting up to hit him now? Or were you perhaps going to snap at him at a closer range? Not to mention tell him that he was utterly stupid for thinking that you’d still be able to enjoy swimming after everything that you’d been through. But then, in the next moment, he’d felt nothing but surprise when, instead of doing any of those things, you’d simply placed your hands lightly on his shoulders, before you’d leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

And just the feel of your lips on his cheek and the fact that you’d chosen to be so gentle with him when he’d expected you to be anything but had made him feel warm all over. 

 

Then when you’d whispered, “Thank you,” as you’d pulled away from him and, “I'm sorry about the way I treated you earlier,” before you’d ducked your head, he’d just felt even warmer as a great rush of relief and affection for you had filled him. 

 

So he’d tilted your chin up a moment later with his fingers, before he’d pressed his lips to yours. And then when you’d made a soft sound in his mouth as his hands had steadied you it had made his head spin and made him want to make you make that sound again. 

 

Yet of course that hadn't been able to happen. For his brother’s voice had exclaimed, “They’re kissing!” just a moment later. 

 

And as Mycroft had pulled away from you he hadn't been able to help but feel irritated with Sherlock. Firstly for the reason that he was sure that it would make Mummy automatically think badly of you again if she’d heard his words, and secondly because he’d finally been able to feel an emotion that wasn't either sadness or frustration coming from you. So he’d had to say, “Oh for goodness sake Sherlock it was barely a”-

 

But he hadn't even been able to finish his words then for Sherlock had decided to peep around the door once more. 

 

And then he’d said, “Mummy would like to see you in the living room Mycroft,” before he’d added, “I think she wants to discuss what she’d like you to help her with tomorrow.”

 

So as Mycroft had let out a little breath at his brother’s words his eyes had gone to you automatically, and as soon as they had he’d been able to tell that you were afraid that this new development meant that he wouldn't be able to take you swimming the following day after all. But he wasn't about to let that happen, not when he felt sure that he’d been making a breakthrough with you, and not when he finally had the opportunity to make you happy. So, making up his mind, he’d grabbed at your hand, before he’d led you into the living room. 

 

Mummy had moved to sit opposite Father by that point, and Father had still been attempting to read, but both of them had looked up as you’d both entered. And Mycroft had felt his brother’s presence entering the room a moment later too. But he’d been too focused again on getting out what he needed to, to focus on any of those things too much. So he’d readied himself and adjusted his grip on you ever so slightly, before he’d announced to the room at large, “I'm sorry Mummy but I won’t be able to help you tomorrow, I've already promised to take F/N swimming.”

 

And, _“Swimming?”_ Mummy had questioned at once. 

 

So, “Yes,” Mycroft had confirmed. But then when he’d felt you move about a little uncertainly beside him he’d felt compelled to try and reassure you again through adding, “F/N’s a very good swimmer Mummy, she used to compete and everything, and so I'm quite surprised and annoyed with myself that the idea has only just occurred to me.” And then when he’d felt you squeeze his hand he’d only felt even more encouraged, not to mention relieved. For surely this would be it. Surely that now he’d stumbled upon something that would make you happy all your frustration with him would fade and you’d both go on to have a far more pleasanter summer with each other. 

 

Yet of course Mummy had brought the past up unwittingly again when she’d asked, “Why don’t you compete any more?” 

 

And Mycroft had waited for you to give some sort of answer to her, but then when a couple of moments had passed and you still hadn't he’d felt worried for you so he’d looked at you. Then, once he’d seen that you weren't able to answer Mummy yourself, he’d looked back at her and told her, “F/N’s very ambitious Mummy, and she’s decided to put her academic ambitions over her swimming ones, at least for now,” in an attempt to cover up the moment. And when he’d looked at you quickly to make sure that he hadn't said anything that you disagreed with and he’d seen the gratitude that had been shining in your eyes he’d felt like perhaps he’d just rescued the moment and that things would surely settle down again to become that more pleasant reality. And perhaps they would have if his brother hadn't existed. If his brother hadn't let out a snort and then walked across to lean against the arm of Mummy’s armchair. And whilst Sherlock had thrown him a rather challenging look, Mycroft, at his brother threatening the peace once more, had given him a dark, warning one in return. 

 

But despite Sherlock’s non-verbal threat it had been Mummy who had spoken next. Mummy who had suggested, “In that case perhaps you can do some errands for me in town, whilst you’re there and whilst F/N’s busy swimming Mycroft.”

 

And before he could even stop himself Mycroft had started to say, “I was rather hoping that I might”- before he’d caught himself and broken off, and as he’d done so he’d looked at you automatically. Then he’d looked away from you again. 

 

But, “Might hope to _what_ , Mycroft?” Mummy had asked him suspiciously then, and with the feeling that he was in trouble again, not to mention the fact that he had little idea of how he could get out what was on his mind without embarrassing himself completely, Mycroft had shifted his position restlessly once more. 

 

Then, “Well,” he’d finally begun, “I've never watched F/N swim before and I was rather hoping that at the very least I might be able to catch a glimpse of here.”

 

And then, as he’d looked at you again, he’d silently asked you if it would be all right for him to do such a thing, before, when he could tell that you had no objection to such an idea he’d begun to stroke your hand. But again this sweeter moment between the pair of you had been stopped just a moment later when Mummy had cleared her throat, forcing you to look away from each other and making Mycroft feel too self-conscious to continue stroking your hand in front of her. 

 

Then, “In that case,” Mummy had begun, “You can take Sherlock with you.”

 

And Mycroft had felt both indignant and offended by the suggestion so he’d told her at once, “I don’t need a chaperone Mummy.”

 

But Sherlock had, had complaints of his own and he’d chosen to protest, “And the last thing I want to be is lumbered with them, whilst they make googly eyes at each other,” at the same time that Mycroft had spoken. 

 

“But if F/N’s swimming, whilst the both of you are running errands for me in town then there won’t be any room for, ‘googly eyes,’ now will there?” Mummy had concluded, and if he hadn't been at the very heart of the situation then Mycroft’s lip might have twitched at hearing his mother say, _‘googly eyes.’_

 

Instead though his lip had curved down in rather the opposite direction when his brother had muttered, “I’ll still have to put up with them in the car.” Whilst things had got even worse a moment later when his brother had chosen to add, “And we all know that Mycroft finds her even more attractive when she’s wet”-

 

So, _“Sherlock!”_ Mycroft had exclaimed, whilst he’d wished that his brother would shut up, and that he especially wouldn't let such things slip out of his mouth in front of Mummy and you, for Father was far more prone to ignore such words. And as he’d thought such things his hand had tightened upon yours for a moment, before he’d let go of you automatically in the next. Then, wanting to try and rescue the situation, he’d told Sherlock, “You know full well that I don’t have any preference as to whether F/N’s wet or dry.”

 

But then Sherlock had just quipped, “Not yet you don’t,” and Mycroft had suffered a moment’s confusion, before he’d just blushed even more when he’d come to realize what his brother meant, and he hadn't dared look at you. 

 

Then in one final attempt to end that crushing scene of embarrassment Mycroft had attempted, “Mummy I don’t”-

 

But, “I know you don’t want Sherlock going with you Mycroft,” Mummy had begun, and Mycroft was glad that she understood that for one thing. For after all the last thing that he wanted was his little brother there to interrupt what could be several nice moments with you. Yet it had appeared that Mummy’s understanding didn't add up to her relenting on the terms that she’d already stipulated. For a moment later she’d gone on, “But that’s my final say on the matter. So your brother either accompanies you both tomorrow or none of you go at all”-

 

And with the hope that he could make Mummy see that it would be so much better if his brother didn't go with them Mycroft had protested, _“But”-_

 

Yet Mummy had not been one for turning. And she’d said, “Mycroft if your brother goes with you then you’ll no doubt get all the errands I've got for you done twice more quickly, which will still give you enough time to catch the glimpse of F/N swimming like you want to,” and Mycroft had just stared at her for a moment, whilst he’d looked for any possible chink in her armour that he might be able to exploit. But he hadn't been able to find any, so in the end he’d just nodded. 

 

Yet that hadn't stopped him from coming up with a plan and a possible way around things as he’d lied on his back in bed that night. And that hadn't stopped him from thinking that if there was any chance for him and you to share a nice moment together then he was going to take it.

 

So that morning, with the plan he’d come up with ready in his mind, he’d got up early, located the picnic hamper, which he’d found easily, and tried to locate the picnic rug, which he hadn't been able to find at all. And a breath of frustration had escaped him, whilst he’d worried that he was letting you down already. Then in the end he’d concluded that he’d just have to buy a new picnic rug in town, before he’d let Father into his plan and enlisted his help for later. 

 

And then, before you’d even got up, he’d made his way to Sherlock’s room, which he could hear shuffling noises inside of, before, without further ado, he’d knocked smartly on the door. 

 

And, “Come in,” Sherlock had called a little irritably just a moment later. 

 

So Mycroft had quickly entered the room and closed the door behind him. 

 

Then for a moment the brothers had just stared at each other, and Mycroft had taken in how his brother was sat by his desk, which was to the left of the room, whilst he wore a thin dark dressing gown over his baggy pyjamas, and how an array of different chemicals in vials of all shapes and sizes were scattered out in front of him. Sherlock meanwhile had no doubt taken in how fully dressed Mycroft was, not to mention the determined expression that had been on his face. And Mycroft had known as soon as something flickered across his brother’s face and his eyes gleamed that Sherlock had known that he’d come to ask for his assistance with something. 

 

Yet, “Yes?” Sherlock had questioned evenly. 

 

And Mycroft had frowned a little at that, before he’d shifted his position uncomfortable. For of course Sherlock was going to make him say it. So he’d let out a bit of a sigh at how irritating his brother was being, before he’d forced the words, “I need a favour,” coolly from his mouth. 

 

And again Sherlock’s eyes had gleamed with something. This time with amusement. And then his lip had curled up a little, before he’d asked casually, “What kind of favour?” But then before Mycroft had been able to do more than part his lips and again feel a little annoyed with his brother’s behaviour Sherlock had gone on, “And bear in mind that depending on what it is you might want to offer me payment,” which had elicited another frown from Mycroft. 

 

Yet however much of a nuisance he’d felt that Sherlock was being Mycroft could not deny the fact that he’d need his brother’s help if he was going to pull everything off. So he’d shifted his position only momentarily again, before he’d come out with the words, “I’d like to spend some time with F/N alone today if I can”-

 

Yet, “Oh dear God,” Sherlock had interrupted. 

 

But Mycroft had only flushed a little and then rolled his eyes a little impatiently, before he’d gone on, “It’s nothing to concern yourself with Sherlock, I just want a nice moment with her that’s all,” and then there’d been a moment’s pause, before he’d mused, “A picnic with her if I can wangle it.” Yet in the next moment his face had turned more serious and he’d drawn himself up to his full height as he’d scrutinized his brother. And then, “But to do that,” he’d gone on, “I'm going to need your assistance and I'm going to need you to distract Mummy for long enough this morning so that Father and I can properly attend to the picnic hamper.”

 

And Sherlock had simply looked at Mycroft consideringly for a moment. Then, “That can be arranged,” he’d murmured. 

 

“But I'm going to need you to only do it when F/N’s getting ready for the trip after she has her breakfast,” Mycroft had stressed, before he’d gone on, “It’s imperative that she doesn't know about what I’d like to happen today.” And then he’d shifted his presence once more, before he’d explained, “I don’t want her getting excited about the idea if I can’t even guarantee it will happen,” and Sherlock had rolled his eyes. 

 

But as soon as Mycroft’s eyes had flashed a little dangerously Sherlock had raised his hands up in supplication and stated, “Fine,” before he’d lowered his hands and turned his head so that he could stare consideringly at the chemicals. Then, “Hmm let’s see,” he’d begun, and such words had made Mycroft’s whole body stiffen and his eyebrows rise suspiciously at him. Yet he’d listened just a moment later as Sherlock had gone on, “We’re probably talking about twenty minutes distraction here, and you want me to do it at a specific time so F/N doesn't cotton on to what you’re planning so…”

 

But, “Ten,” Mycroft had blurted out suddenly, whilst he’d shifted his position and folded his arms.

 

So, _“Ten?”_ Sherlock had questioned. 

 

And, “Ten pounds is all I'm offering you for your services this morning,” Mycroft had elaborated.

 

But Sherlock had leaned back in his chair a little and looked up at his brother consideringly. Then his eyes had glistened with something dark as he’d said, “I don’t think _you’re_ in any position to be setting limits, _you’re_ the one who needs me after all”-

 

Yet, “ _I’ll_ decide how much I need you,” Mycroft had interrupted him curtly. 

 

And Sherlock had stared at him for another moment, before, upon no doubt seeing that he wasn't going to get anywhere he’d relented, “Fine, ten it is,” and Mycroft had nodded and made to leave the room. For he’d pay Sherlock later. “But in the future, if you want my help then it might be worth you being a bit more generous,” Sherlock had added before he could, and so Mycroft had given him a bit of a frown, before he’d left the room. 

 

Then he’d made his way back to the kitchen and he’d felt his heart give a little flop in his chest when he’d seen that you were sat by the table as you ate your breakfast. And then it had given a little jolt at the way that you’d looked up at him with a small smile on your face, before you’d said, “Morning,” around your mouthful of cereal. 

 

So he’d gone towards you instinctively, before he’d pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and ignored Mummy’s tut as he’d done so. Then he’d murmured, “Good morning,” before he’d gone to sit opposite you. And you’d given another one of your shy smiles at him then. So he’d asked, “Are you looking forward to today?” whilst he’d hoped that you were, and naturally he’d felt pleased therefore when you’d nodded rather eagerly, before a small flush had risen up across your face and you’d ducked your head down again in embarrassment. And seeing you behave in such a manner had just made him hope even more that he could pull everything off and give you more than what you were expecting. 

 

So it had been to his relief when, despite Sherlock’s earlier suggestion that he might not be able to carry off what Mycroft wanted him to because of the poor pay that he was being offered, everything had gone to plan and Sherlock had managed to distract Mummy sufficiently enough to enable both him and Father to be able to stock the picnic hamper up and to do the flask and put it all ready in the boot of the car, before either Mummy or you could realize what was going on. Although such feelings of relief and triumph had been rather short-lived when Mummy had insisted on embarrassing him by going over the top with her fussing as you’d been about to leave and then when he’d nearly stalled the car. Something, which had both embarrassed him and alarmed him. For the last thing that he’d wanted to do was to hurt you or to make you feel as if you wouldn't be completely safe with him driving. And he hadn't been able to think that after him trying his best to protect you it would be rather ironic, not to mention something that he would never forgive himself for, if, after everything, he was the one who ended up hurting you, and if _he_ was the one who ended up making you feel more pain. So he hadn't been able to feel anything but great relief when you’d not only said that you were fine but when he’d been able to see that you were from scanning you with his eyes. 

 

Yet again though such a feeling had been short-lived when his brother had insisted on acting difficult. And such a thing had caused Mycroft to not only feel irritation with Sherlock but embarrassment that his brother was acting so immature in front of you. For although he knew of course that you were used to such behaviour by now it still wasn't the sort of behaviour that he would have liked to be occurring. And indeed he’d only been able to hope that the day would end on a nicer note. 

 

Yet once more things hadn't looked promising when Sherlock had decided to take things up to another level by kicking the back of your seat. 

 

And Mycroft had felt even more horrified by his brother’s behaviour then so the word, _“Apologize,”_ had left his lips at once.

 

But Sherlock had insisted on still being most stubborn and difficult when he’d retorted, “Why should I?” 

 

So Mycroft, quite forgetting about the fact that if he were to properly wade in and start arguing with his brother then it might make you feel uncomfortable, had replied strongly, “Because F/N’s done nothing to warrant such behaviour and furthermore you might think otherwise but we’re both fully aware that you only did that because you’re still sulking about not being able to see John as much as you’d like this summer”-

 

Yet if Mycroft had been hoping that his words might make Sherlock more self-aware of his childish behaviour and shut him up, which quite frankly he had, then he hadn't got his wish. For, “You’d be sulking too if all you had was the sight of grass and the feeling of boredom to look forward to all summer”- was what his brother had come out with next. 

 

And, “Oh Sherlock,” Mycroft had groaned, and he’d been wishing then that he could have found a way to make his brother stop his whining as much as he’d been wishing that he could find a way to unlock you. Then he’d added, “You've been banging away quite happily in your room, don’t pretend otherwise,” in one last attempt. And thankfully that had seemed to quieten Sherlock at last. But then, remembering about how they’d come to go down this path of conversation in the first place, Mycroft had been unable to stop himself from telling his brother, “F/N’s still waiting for your apology,” in a firm tone. 

 

Yet he’d almost started with surprise a moment later when you’d said, “It’s fine,” before you’d squeezed his arm. For although he’d hardly forgotten that you were sitting next to him your words and the feel of your hand upon his arm had served to remind him that you’d been sat there all throughout the time that he’d allowed himself to get distracted by his brother. And the knowledge that you’d been able to hear every petty word of it had made him feel ashamed of himself. So ashamed that he’d barely paid attention to Sherlock’s next words. Instead he’d half-looked at you, and the feeling of shame had increased inside himself as he’d done so. For he’d been able to tell straight away from the rather uneasy and almost pleading expression that had been on your face that you wanted to bring a stop to the argument between him and Sherlock, and that even more than that he’d ended up doing one of the things that he’d wanted to try and avoid by making you feel unsafe. 

 

So he’d been keen to put the situation right and reassure you when he’d said, “ _F/N_ , has more common sense than the both of us put together,” and when he’d thought that he might have, at the very least, been on the right track to achieving such things because of the way you’d smiled a little at him, he’d felt a bit better. Yet of course Sherlock had let out a groan upon seeing the nicer moment that was developing, So, “And you can stop reacting in such a silly fashion whenever F/N and I do so much as smile at each other too,” Mycroft had told him without being able to help it. 

 

But Sherlock had snapped back, “Can I do so much as breathe in your presence Mycroft? Or do I have to ask your permission for that as well?” and his words had made Mycroft quite forget about his desire to try and be an honourable gentleman for your sake so he’d slipped back into arguing with Sherlock as easily as he had done so the first time. 

 

He remembers in the present now though how it had been something that, once he’d been wandering through town on his own [he’d split the list of Mummy’s duties into half] how arguing with Sherlock had been something that he’d felt guilty for doing. For the last thing that he’d wanted to do was make you uncomfortable or concerned or irritated. And he’d felt pretty sure that by arguing with Sherlock he’d made you feel all three. Yet his brother could just be so irritating sometimes that it was like he’d just lose control of the person he primarily was for a few moments and just have to retort back. Still though, he’d thought, as he’d adjusted his hold on the picnic rug that he’d bought in town, hopefully his picnic idea would make up for his earlier discrepancies in your mind. And he’d felt glad that he’d thought of it then. Though a voice in his mind had seemed to take great delight in reminding him that he couldn't very well take you for a picnic every time he argued with Sherlock in your company. But just as he’d begun to feel a little tense again about how uncertain he often felt with you these days his eyes had caught upon a figure who was walking further ahead of him on the same street. And he’d nearly dropped the picnic rug and the bag of things for Mummy, for he was sure that, that slicked back hairstyle and smartly dressed appearance in a navy suit belonged to none other than Moriarty! And for a moment he’d been back at the pool facing the man who had caused such upset in your life and learning that both Sherlock and you were underneath the water, and his body had moved forwards instinctively in a more hurried fashion, whilst his breaths had caught sharply in his chest and his eyes had fixed upon the figure. For how had Moriarty known that you’d been staying there? Had he perhaps been following you ever since you’d left the house you stayed in, whilst at university? Had he even followed you back to Brighton, before following you here? Had he perhaps been lurking out of sight all the time and waiting, just _waiting_ for the perfect opportunity to strike? And Mycroft’s lips had parted in horror then, releasing all his frantic breaths in a bit of a wheeze. For you were alone at the swimming pool with no idea that Moriarty or indeed any of his followers might be about to put you in danger. No idea of what might be lurking in the shadows. And he’d cursed himself then, for he should never have left you alone! And what an idiot he was for worrying about what you’d think of him for getting distracted with Sherlock earlier on when there was always something much bigger lurking in the background. But then, in the next moment, he’d hurtled to a stop and his breath had left his mouth in a gasp. For Moriarty had crossed the road. And here was the biggest thing of all, it _wasn't_ Moriarty! And Mycroft’s head had spun for a moment and he’d bent forwards a little, and dropped all his things, and clutched at his knees with his hands as his breaths had come out in hurried puffs. But he’d only stayed like that for a couple of moments, before, as he’d wanted to see you and make sure that you were all right all the same he’d taken hold of everything once more and quickly made his way back to the car park. 

 

Sherlock had already been there, waiting by the car since Mycroft had the keys with an air of nonchalance about him. 

 

Yet that air of indifference had soon turned into irritation when he’d spotted Mycroft and remarked, “There you are,” before he’d concluded, “I thought you’d gone to the pool without coming back here first.”

 

But the mention of the pool, and of where you were right at that moment, still alone and still possibly vulnerable despite the fact that it hadn't been Moriarty that he’d seen earlier, had made Mycroft feel all the more desperate to get to you. So he’d handed his bag and the rug to Sherlock, who had taken them with a bit of an indignant expression on his face. Then Mycroft had told him, “Put those in the back of the car, I need to get to the pool.”

 

But, “ _God_ , you _do_ really love her when she’s wet don’t you?” Sherlock had exclaimed, before he’d adjusted his hold on everything. 

 

So, “I thought I just saw Moriarty,” Mycroft had revealed to his brother with a bit of a flush on his face. But his eyes had been serious all the same. And Sherlock had opened his mouth automatically at hearing such words. Yet before he’d been able to say anything Mycroft had gone on, “It wasn't him, but I need to see her”- 

 

Yet, “I'm sure she’ll be fine,” Sherlock had interrupted him, before he’d asked, “Do you want me to come with you?” 

 

But Mycroft had shaken his head irritably then, before he’d said, “No, stay here,” for the last thing that he wanted was Sherlock getting caught up in things if there was anything occurring, whilst he also knew that his brother would be the first to mock him if everything was fine. So he’d instinctively turned away from the car to make his way to the pool by himself. 

 

But he’d taken no more than a couple of steps when Sherlock had called, “Car keys.”

 

So Mycroft had stopped, cursed himself for acting like an idiot, huffed out a breath and turned so that he could throw said car keys to Sherlock, who had, had a bit of an exasperated expression on his face when he’d caught them. 

 

And then Mycroft had moved away from the car once more. But no matter how quickly he walked the more worried his thoughts seemed to become until they were conjuring all sorts of possibilities. One of them being a scenario where Moriarty had sent someone who looked a little like him to deliberately distract him, whilst he did something to you. Whilst Mycroft also felt worried about what could have happened during all the time that he’d wasted talking to his brother because of his panic. So he’d ended up doing a bit of a jog, and he’d been a little breathless by the time that he’d finally made it to the viewing area over the pool and frantically peered over it to see if he could see you. Then his eyes had desperately scanned and dismissed swimmer after swimmer, before finally he’d seen you, and another great gasp of breath had left his mouth in relief upon him doing so. For you were there and you looked fine, more than fine in fact he noticed as your eyes locked together, and his lips had curved upwards into a little smile without being able to help themselves. Then you’d given him a little wave, and feeling self-conscious, because he was sure that he’d already been given a couple of odd looks at the way that he’d been so out of breath upon his arrival there, he’d looked to the left and the right, before he’d given you a small one of his own back. For he didn't want to disappoint you after all. 

 

Yet any lingering feelings of worry for you or uncertainty had slowly faded into the background in the next few moments as you’d turned your back on him and he’d watched as you’d swum to the far wall. Then he’d let out a little breath as you’d spun around and kicked off said wall, before you’d swum back towards him. And he’d felt further amazed and astonished, not to mention a little in awe of you at the strength that you seemed to possess inside you, cutting through the water with ease and a power that he wouldn't have expected you to show. Whilst he’d also felt his face gradually growing a little warmer too, for the sight of your body clearly working hard yet making everything look so effortless all the same had been something that was most visually pleasing to him. And by the time that you’d reached the wall of the pool that was just beneath where he was observing he’d become so entranced by you that he hadn't been able to help but smile and applaud you as soon as you looked up at him. Whilst he hadn't been able to help but notice that you looked pleased by him doing such a thing either, and when you’d jumped up a little, before you’d given him a small bow on your way back down his eyes had widened once more, not just in surprise but because of the strength you were showing again and because of how alive and free you looked with your cheeks flushed, and your eyes full of a vigour that he’d only ever seen in the photograph of you that had been taken on Carl’s last day alive, whilst the water droplets that had splashed around you as you’d done so. And something about the way that the droplets had surged up and exploded all around you had reminded him of how you’d looked as you’d watched those fireworks all that time ago. For right then, as he watched you, he felt like he was watching his own firework. And as you’d done another lap of the pool he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off you. Whilst when you’d gotten out of the pool a little breath had escaped him and his face had grown even warmer as his eyes had roamed around your arms, before they’d slipped lower to appreciate your legs. For he’d never seen them bare before. And with the way that the water was dripping down them he’d found himself thinking that they looked very enticing indeed. Not to mention that he’d wondered how it would feel to press his hands lightly then firmly against them and to curve his hands around them and about the expression that might be on your face if he were to do so. For would your eyes be sparkling, and would you look as happy and free as you did at that current moment. But then such thoughts had been interrupted as the knowledge of what Sherlock would say if he’d been there had filtered through to his mind. So he’d swallowed and shifted uncomfortably instead. Then once you’d disappeared out of sight he’d made his way to stand outside the changing room. 

 

And as he’d been stood there he hadn't been able to help but keep a close eye on everyone who passed, but in particular on everyone who entered and came out of the changing room that you were in. For he might not have seen Moriarty earlier but the possibility of him lurking around the vicinity that it had brought into his head had only made him feel even more determined to look after you and make sure that you were as well protected as you could be. 

 

So naturally, when you’d finally come out, he’d felt more than a bit relieved and pleased to see that you were still in one piece, not to mention happy when he saw that you looked just as content as you had done earlier. 

 

And he’d wrapped his arms around your waist as soon as you’d joined him with a smile, before he’d smiled one of his own when you’d told him, “I probably stink of chlorine.”

 

For although you did and although the smell of it naturally made his nose wrinkle a little he’d just felt glad in that moment that he had another chance with you, and that he hadn't just blown his chance to keep you safe so he’d murmured, “I don’t care,” in a fervent fashion, before he’d pulled you closer and then gone on to kiss you hard. And he’d known in that moment as he kissed you that he would never tell you about the fact that for a moment he’d believed that he’d seen Moriarty that day, for not only were you happy but it was something that he alone wanted to be burdened with. But nonetheless he could feel himself putting all of the relief and all of the emotion at the fact that it _hadn't_ been Moriarty into the kiss, and whilst he hoped that you’d never learn the reason for why he was kissing you so passionately then he’d hoped that you’d be able to tell from it just how much he cared for you and just how much he loved you. 

 

Then when you’d pulled back a little from each other and you’d asked him, “You liked watching me swim then?” in a slightly teasing tone he’d had to smile a bit. For yes he’d liked watching you, but more than that he’d been so grateful just to find you there so happy and unharmed. 

 

So, “Liked it?” he’d exclaimed, before he’d gone on naturally, “My dear,” and then, as soon as he’d realized what he’d said and he’d come to see Moriarty’s face in his mind once more he’d hesitated. But then, at the feel of your hand on his, reassuring him just as much as he’d been attempting to reassure you, he’d kissed you again. Then, after he’d pulled back and placed his forehead against yours, and felt so at home as he’d done so he’d breathed, “You were like Queen of the swimming pool.”

 

 _“Mmm,”_ had been your instant response, and the feel of the word vibrating against his chest had made him smile again. Then you’d kissed him, before you’d told him, “‘Queen of the swimming pool,’ I like that,” and he hadn't been able to help but let out a delighted chuckle at your words. For you were still there and still able to charm him with your ways, and how thankful he was for such a thing. So, wanting you to always be able to do so, he’d wrapped an arm protectively around your waist as you’d both begun to make your way out of the leisure centre together. Then you’d asked him, “Where’s Sherlock?” 

 

So, feeling happier than he’d done all day, he’d replied, “Probably setting the car on fire,” as he’d both looked at you softly and smiled at you. And he’d felt even more delighted when you’d let out a laugh and patted him on the arm, before you’d reached to hold his hand and then swung your joined ones back and forth. 

 

Whilst his mood had only increased further when Sherlock had taken the hint and offered to let you have a bit of time alone together, and when he’d then been able to, at last, take you to one of his favourite places. 

 

And he’d felt glad when the idea of the picnic had been revealed to you that you’d taken to it at once and even happier when you’d seemed to appreciate the peace and tranquillity of the spot that he’d chosen for you both to eat it in just as much as he did. For he wouldn't have known how to proceed if you’d ended up rejecting either thing. 

 

Yet, as seemed to be the pattern that day, his relief and pleasure had soon turned into something else. This time a feeling of great nervousness when, after the picnic was largely finished, you’d shifted closer to him, before you’d leant against him and rested your head against his shoulder. For once more he hadn't been sure of what to do. And once more he’d wished that you’d tell him what you expected of him in such a moment. For should he just stay still and let you simply lean against him for a bit? Should he try and talk to you? Kiss you perhaps? Or were you after some other such reaction from him? 

 

And as he’d been struggling over all this his eyes had shifted down from you to the scattered remnants of the picnic on the rug. There they’d landed on the grapes and he’d felt his heart give a bit of a jolt in his chest as a sudden idea had come to him at the sight of them. Then his eyes had slid back momentarily to you, before they’d slid away again as he’d gathered up all his nerves and courage, and then swiped the bunch of grapes towards him and plucked one off its stem. And he’d looked at you again then, and something inside him had almost been waiting for you to tell him that it was a silly idea. But you hadn't done so, and on the contrary you’d just looked at him with a rather curious sort of encouragement on your face as you’d lifted your head off his shoulder. So he’d swallowed, before he’d tentatively lifted the grape towards your mouth. And then he’d swallowed again just as rapidly a moment later when your eyes had gone from him to the grape and your head had started to move down towards it. Then his eyes had widened and his heart had given a great jolt in his chest when you’d taken the grape from him using your mouth and when your lips had brushed against his fingertips. And then when you’d closed your eyes and let out an, “Mmm,” he’d felt quite alarmed at how much tighter his trousers suddenly felt just from that one word and action. Not to mention from how easy it would have been, right then, to just lean forwards and kiss you. And knowing such a thing had left him in a bit of a daze for a moment. And when you’d opened your eyes and asked, “Can I have another one?” it had taken him a moment to get himself out of said daze, before he’d felt both alarmed at the prospect of becoming even more turned on and scared to disappoint you. 

 

And that combination of things had made him tell you, “Yes, of course,” in a rather breathless fashion, before he’d tried to pluck another grape off. 

 

Yet suddenly his hands seemed far too large and his fingers far too clumsy to even do that, and his heart had only started to race more, whilst his mind had started to panic that he was going to disappoint you. 

 

But, “Shh, it’s all right,” you’d told him then, before you’d placed your hand upon his. 

 

And he’d looked up at you instinctively then, ready to tell you that no, he could do this, he just needed another moment that’s all. For he wasn't about to let you down then. 

 

But, “Let me,” you’d told him before he could say such things, and so he’d allowed you to lift his hand carefully away from the grapes, before he’d watched as you went on to do what he’d failed to by plucking one off its stem. 

 

Then, “There,” you’d whispered as both of your eyes had risen to meet each other’s once more, and Mycroft had felt his heart give another apprehensive jerk in his chest as you’d done so, so he’d swallowed again. 

 

Then, as you’d slowly lifted the grape towards him, and looked a little breathless and tentative as you’d done so, and he’d realized that this time _you_ would be the one feeding _him_ , everything, his mind and body, had seemed to shut down until they’d just come to exist in this haze where little was able to function. Little that was except for what he felt towards you in that moment, which was a strong desire and once more a feeling of the utmost awe, for just like you’d been in the pool in that moment you seemed so in control and so knowledgeable of what to do, whilst he just felt a little bewildered and very scared by it all. Scared once more that he wouldn't be able to do something right and that you’d think less of him for it. Scared that he’d disappoint you. Yet no matter what his feelings as his mind and body had become more accustomed to the situation he’d come to realize more fully that you were waiting for him. So his eyes had slid automatically down to the grape. Then, once he’d swallowed and felt more ready to continue he’d leaned forwards and taken the grape from you gently with his mouth, and once more he’d felt an uncomfortable stirring of something down below as his lips had not only come into contact with the grape but your fingers too. And that grape, as he’d leant back and straightened up more once again, could have been the foulest tasting grape in all of existence for all he’d cared and for all he’d tasted it, for in that moment all he could dwell on was the taste of your skin and how much it scared him that he wanted to taste it some more. 

 

But after he’d finished chewing the grape you’d told him, “Let’s just sit here for a while,” so he’d just nodded with his mind full of contemplation, before he’d alternated between looking out at the grey horizon and at you, and both things had seemed more beautiful and awe-inspiring to him in that moment than they’d ever done before. 

 

Again though such feelings of warmth and pleasure and a desire for more had only been able to last so long. And in the present now Mycroft shifts his position uneasily on the seat of the train and lets out a bit of a sigh. For he can avoid thinking about the day that you’d left him no longer he knows. So, reluctantly, his mind goes back to it now. 

 

It’s hard to remember though, after something so pivotal, what he’d been feeling on that day precisely before it had occurred. But he remembers that as soon as he’d realized that you’d gone missing he’d felt both a sense of deep worry and urgency fill him. As well as that same sense of slight irritation with you for going off on your own once more. For hadn't he shown you by then that you doing such things concerned him? And didn't you know that it was for your own good that he wanted you to cease such acts at once? But still it had appeared that you hadn't so he’d torn off around the cottage just to double-check that he hadn't missed you anywhere with the same desperate urgency that he’d always done whenever you saw fit to go off on your own and worry him so. Then, when you hadn't been there, once more he’d checked down the road for you. Again though you hadn't been there. And so he’d faltered again by the cottage’s gate for a moment, before he’d run off towards the lake. For just like with Sherlock he’d concluded with you that it probably wouldn't make a blind bit of difference that you weren't supposed to be there. For the both of you, unlike him, seemed to live in a world where rules and boundaries didn't exist. 

 

But as soon as he’d seen your body lying face upwards in the lake, your arms spread wide, your white dress weighed down with water, your legs stiff against each other and your hair splayed out as it had caused ripples against the water, he’d stopped in his tracks and horror had taken over his face, whilst inside him his stomach had dropped and a moan had risen up, before it had escaped through his parted lips. For it was you, it wasn't just some doll or hideous vision sent up by the devil himself to torment him, that he’d known with certainty, that, that moment had been real and you were in the lake and-

 

And his body had moved forwards of its own accord then, whilst his mouth had cried out, “F/N? _F/N_!” as his eyes had been fully aware, as ever, of what they were seeing, but still unable to process such a horrific thing. For you couldn't be-dear _God_ , please you couldn't be-and he’d stumbled forwards even more then. 

 

Then he’d skidded to a stop automatically and let out a huge great gasping breath of relief, whilst his head had spun as you’d finally moved and finally, thank God, showed some signs of life as you’d splashed into an upright position. 

 

And then, as your eyes had come to lock upon each other’s, his body had moved automatically forwards once more, whilst shuddering breaths had escaped him as he still tried to process everything. And a great feeling of incredulity had come to settle down upon him like snow when he’d finally skidded to a stop by the water’s edge and been able to take you in more as you waded out of the lake. For your white dress had been wet right through, and it had clung to you like a second skin, whilst your arms and legs had been filthy and absolutely covered in a mixture of mud and weeds. In fact if his mind hadn't been so worried and panicked and he’d been able to think straight then he might have thought that you’d looked like a monster that had just surfaced from the deep. 

 

But even if he had done then he still would have concluded that you were you. That you weren't a monster and that you were you. And as you’d finally moved out of the lake completely his incredulity at seeing you in such a horrific state had given way to a complete utter fear for you and anger. Anger that you’d just put yourself in such a reckless situation. Anger that, despite his efforts to show you otherwise, you didn't seem to understand how important and special you were. Not to mention anger at himself for not being able to have prevented such a thing. 

 

And so, as soon as he’d taken you in more and become aware of the fact that you were shivering, he hadn't been able to stop himself from asking, “Christ, are you mad?!” whilst, as he’d wanted to support you automatically he’d grabbed onto your arm as he’d said such words. But you’d pulled it away then and though he’d attempted to try and grasp hold of it again it had been too slippery for him to do so. 

 

Yet he’d known that you were stubborn by that point, so the fact that you’d been trying to cope with the situation by yourself hadn't surprised him. Rather it had been the words, “I didn't come here to kill myself if that’s what you’re thinking”- which you’d snapped out just seconds later that had, and which had made him feel as if you’d just reached down his throat and pulled all his breath out of him with your tiny fist. For what the hell was going on in your head? And what on earth had made you come out with such a thing? And then automatically he’d begun to feel scared that you hurting yourself should be something that he should be worried about even though he’d never thought he had a reason to be so before.

 

And that realization had just made him feel cold all over with fear and God he hadn't known what to say or what to think because the idea was such a new one to him. So in the end he’d just blurted out, “Well you’ll bloody die anyway if you don’t go back to the cottage right now and get out of your things,” because he hadn't known what else to say. And all he’d been able to hope was that, that would snap you out of whatever dark, silly thoughts you’d clearly been having and get things moving in a far more comfortable direction. Yet you hadn't said anything, let alone moved. So, “Come on,” he’d urged you, feeling even more desperate then as he tried to be sensible about things. For the important thing, and the one thought that stood out to him, was to get you out of your clothes and warmed up, and he already had visions of himself wrapping the largest towel that he could find around you once you’d both got back to the cottage. Then, after you’d both calmed down a bit and he’d made you some tea and perhaps some soup too, he’d talk to you about what had just happened and try and find out what had been the cause of such silly behaviour. And perhaps he’d even tell you off for scaring him, whilst he was at it. So, with that in mind, he’d simply turned and expected no resistance from you as you’d done so. 

 

But, _“No!”_ you’d cried out stubbornly just a moment later, so he’d turned around towards you feeling shocked. 

 

And it had been a feeling, which had only increased inside him when he’d seen the way that you were now sat on the grass with your hair slick and tangled, and your wet dress offering you little protection after what you’d been through. 

 

Yet as amazed as he’d felt by your act of rebellion he’d felt too scared and too determined to get you the hell away from there in that moment. So he’d told you firmly, “No, I'm not going to have you getting ill or dying on me, I just won’t have it F/N, so you've got to get up now.” Then he’d stomped around to stand in front of you to further prove his point. But still you hadn't moved. So he’d reached down and grabbed onto your arms then. For there was no way that he was going to let you stay there. And no way that he was going to let you have your own way, not when it was over such a silly thing that would do you far more harm than good. Whilst he’d felt sure, despite all of his panic and your stubbornness, that you’d be thanking him later, so he’d urged you, “Come on, get up.”

 

But you’d been terribly obstinate still, and so when you’d resisted and wriggled against his touch his hands had slid about on your arms in a desperate attempt to grab hold of you more securely. Yet as they’d done so they’d come into contact with your old bruises, and when you’d let out a horrific shriek of pain he’d let go of you at once. 

 

But instead of looking grateful or relieved that he’d let go of you, you’d started to sob then, and you’d even gone so far as to bury your head in your folded arms upon your knees. 

 

So, alarmed that he’d hurt you, not to mention worried about how on earth he was supposed to get you back to the cottage when he couldn't even touch you without doing so and when it seemed impossible that you’d go willingly on your own, he’d questioned, “F/N? F/N?” before he’d flung himself down beside you. Then he’d tried to touch your arm again but you’d leaned away from him so he’d withdrawn his hand, knowing that it was useless to keep trying to comfort you physically when you clearly didn't want him touching you in that moment. And then he’d bitten at his lip momentarily, before he’d tried, “F/N, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, surely you know that? Surely you know that I would never…” automatically, but then he’d trailed off because he could see how cold you were and how much he needed to prioritize getting you back to the cottage. So, “F/N? Please, please come back to the cottage with me, you’ll freeze, I”- he’d tried again. 

 

Yet you’d lifted your head up then, and the suddenness of you doing so had made him start in surprise. And then you’d blurted out, “I can’t!” and he’d felt himself stiffen again as his mind wondered what you meant by that. But all too soon you’d eradicated the last moments of his ignorance when you’d added, “I feel trapped!” and then, “A-And I'm sorry, but I can’t stay here any more.” And before he’d even had a moment to begin to process what you’d just told him you’d stood up. 

 

But, knowing that he needed to act fast, before you could just leave him there with no answers Mycroft had blurted out, “Why?” before he’d asked, “Is it something I've done? Just tell me so that I can try to fix this,” and then, not wanting you to go he’d scrambled across to you on his knees and peered up at you. For all he needed was that one answer from you, and then you could go and get changed and cleaned up and whatever. Just something that he could think about and consider, whilst you went to do all that. 

 

Yet for some reason, perhaps fear Mycroft hadn't known, all you’d done was shake your head at him, before you’d begun to turn away. 

 

So before you could Mycroft’s body had acted automatically and he’d hurried forwards to you on his knees, before he’d pressed his hands delicately against the side of your waist. For all he needed was one answer from you after all. One moment of complete and utter honesty from you. So he’d begged, “No, please, please don’t shut me out again,” before in an attempt to appeal to you further and make you understand some of his perspective he’d gone on, “I thought, before at the hotel, after I first found you again, I thought that you were starting to let me in so please don’t stop now…” For you’d opened up a little to Molly before back at the house, and he’d known that at the very least you’d spoken with her at least once with her during your stay there and probably let her in to more of your inner thoughts, so why couldn't you do so with _him_? Why couldn't you let _him_ in? After all he’d been the one who’d been there for you the most during the past year. And still he hadn't understood it. 

 

But then finally you’d reacted. Finally you’d said, “But you don’t understand,” in a shaky voice, whilst your body trembled. 

 

And though they hadn't exactly been the words he’d wanted to hear, for all he’d ever wanted lately was to be able to understand you completely, and to be able to know exactly how you worked, they’d shown a glimmer of progress from you at least, not to mention that they’d tallied with how he’d ultimately felt, which was that he _didn't_ understand you, so he’d shifted closer to you a little with an apprehensive sort of eagerness. Then he’d urged, “What? What don’t I understand? Please tell me,” in an encouraging sort of fashion, before his hands had begun to rub at your waist in both an attempt to further make you tell him what was on your mind and in an attempt to warm you. 

 

Yet he’d felt most shocked and even more confused when you’d blurted out, “Stop it! Stop being so kind to me!” just a moment later. And when you’d taken a sudden step backwards and he’d nearly fallen. 

 

But then as soon as he’d re-gained his balance he’d exclaimed, “Stop being kind to you? I can’t do that, I lo”- and he’d begun to say such words automatically, for not only were they true but they’d come to him as naturally as breathing.

 

Yet again you’d interrupted him. This time with a bit of a shriek as you’d said, “Don’t! Don’t say it!” 

 

And he hadn't been able to help but feel hurt at the fact that you hadn't wanted him to tell you that he loved you. For what was wrong with him feeling such a thing for you? And why shouldn't he say such a thing? So, “It’s how I feel,” he’d told you. 

 

But, “Well you shouldn't!” you’d told him just a moment later and he’d felt his face reacting to your words, and felt the pain rising inside him. Yet it had just done so even more when you’d gasped out, “Don’t you get it? I'm broken! I'm a horrible, broken, selfish person,” and he hadn't been able to help but begin to cry at your words. And he’d just done so even more when he’d seen how you were crying too and how crumpled and desperate your face had looked in that moment. Yet such a sight had just made him want to protest against all of your points even more too so he’d begun to open his mouth in order to do so. But you’d gone on before he could, “I'm messed up inside, and you deserve better.” And again he’d wanted to protest. For he couldn't imagine that there could be anyone better than you out there. But again you’d continued, “Do you know what I've been feeling despite all of your kindnesses towards me ever since we got here?” before he could. And he’d felt scared. For part of him had desperately wanted to know and the other part had been terrified of what it might lead to. So for a moment he’d just bitten at his lip. Then finally he’d shaken his head, before he’d listened as you’d gone on, “I've been feeling trapped, suffocated and like I can’t breathe because you’re always there asking me if I'm all right or trying to make sure that I don’t get hurt again,” and him hearing you say such things had made him both feel heavy on the inside and want to ask what on earth was wrong with him doing such things. For you’d been coping with so much on your own for so long so what was wrong with him showing you that you didn't have to do it like that any more? Showing you that you could talk to him? That you could confide in him about absolutely anything and he’d always be there for you? Yet you hadn't answered any such thoughts when you’d said, “And don’t think that I don’t feel sick because of it because I do. I hate myself”-

 

And he’d been compelled to interrupt you with, _“F/N,”_ in an attempt to stop you from beating yourself up about everything, whilst his hands had tried to grab at yours again. 

 

Yet you’d only let him hold onto the tips of your fingers as you’d shaken your head at him. Then you’d gone on, “I hate myself because you’re the most…the _best_ person that I've ever had in my life except for my parents and I should…I shouldn't be feeling anything but gratitude for everything that you've done and that you’re trying to do, but I _do_ ”- 

 

And as the priority that he felt he should be focusing on had started to get slightly clearer in his mind Mycroft had interrupted you with the words, “Tell me what you want me to do instead,” because he hated to see you this way, and, “If what I'm doing for you now isn't right for you then tell me what I should be doing and I’ll try to do it,” he’d begged you, as he’d attempted to comfort you by rubbing at the tips of your fingers with his. For after all it mattered not what he’d done in the past, even though in an ideal world he would like to understand more about it and why it had pushed you so much to the edge like it had, but it mattered more about what he could do to make up for such things in the future. 

 

Yet he hadn't got the words of explanation that he’d been hoping for. For all you’d done was shake your head at him for a moment, and his heart had tumbled in his chest again as you’d done so. For why couldn't you just tell him and help him to help you? Why were you pulling away from him? And being so stubborn about not even letting him in at all?

 

But then a moment later you’d said, “Look at you,” and still such words had done nothing to help him so he’d just stared at you desperately as he’d wanted to understand more. Yet then you’d added, “I'm ruining you,” sadly. 

 

But he’d known how to reply to that. So, “I don’t care,” is what he’d protested at once. 

 

Yet, “I do,” is what you’d told him softly just a moment later. And then as you’d moved one of your hands to stroke at his cheek you’d gone on, “When I first met you, you were a little guarded sure, but you were perfect,” and Mycroft had swallowed then because he hadn't liked where that had seemed to be going. And sure enough, “And you’re still perfect but I'm ruining you,” is what you’d said next. So he’d opened his mouth to protest. For how could you possibly say that? When, if anything, you were enriching his life? But before he’d been able to say such things you’d told him, “Look at what you've had to go through this past year because of me. You've had me forcing you not to tell anyone about what Moriarty was doing to me, and look at the guilt you ended up feeling just because of that despite the fact that none of it was your fault, and Moriarty could have really hurt you, or you could have been _killed_ in that swimming pool, and it would have all been my fault”- and again he’d tried to interrupt you. But again you’d got there first with the words, “And look at us now, your Mum hates me and thinks I'm leading you astray and quite frankly she’s right. I'm not good for you.”

 

So, “You _are_ ”- Mycroft had got out automatically, his voice full of a sort of firm determination, whilst he’d also felt surprise that he’d actually managed to interrupt you at last. 

 

Yet, “No, I'm not,” you’d got out just as insistently a moment later with a wave of your hands, and then, “Look at us!” you’d spat and he’d flinched at your tone. For no matter how strong the words that he managed to get out were, yours always seemed to come out stronger. And your conviction, even though he couldn't have disagreed with your words any more than he did in that moment, always seemed to reach out above his. And, “ _Look_ at the distance that I'm putting in between you and your family already, all just because you can’t tell them what a mess your girlfriend is,” is what you’d come out with next. 

 

So, “You’re not”- Mycroft had begun in the hope that perhaps that time he’d actually be able to make you see sense. 

 

But still you hadn't listened. In fact you’d acted like _he_ was the one who was being hopelessly unreasonable when you’d grabbed at his hands and held them tightly with yours, before you’d told him, “You deserve to be with someone better, someone who has no baggage, someone who isn't as selfish as me and who will take care of you as much as you take care of them”-

 

And Mycroft had once more felt incredulous that you were coming out with such things. But too he’d felt even more desperate for it had just become clearer and clearer to him that somehow such thought had become something, which had become engrained in you and something that he’d have a large fight on his hands to get rid of and to make you see otherwise. Yet still he’d attempted to do just that when he’d said, “I don’t mind taking care of you,” and, “I like it.” Not to mention, “I like feeling that you need me.” For surely, somehow, he could find the words in order to make you understand such things? 

 

But still all you’d done was let out a sigh, before you’d told him, “I know you don’t mind it,” in a weary fashion, and once more Mycroft had wished that he could be in your head right then. For if you knew such a thing then what was the problem? And why were you getting all upset about it? Yet then you’d told him, “But you shouldn't have to take care of me so much,” before you’d confessed, “I want you to be with someone you can have more of a laugh with, someone you won’t have to worry constantly about, someone your parents would be able to like straight away because she wouldn't be hiding anything like I am”- and you’d broken off then. Not because he’d interrupted you but because you couldn't go on. And God in the present there’s so many things that Mycroft wished he’d got across to you in that moment. For how he wishes that he’d told you that he was sure in time you’d have more to laugh about than you would have to cry about. How he wishes that he’d re-iterated again that he doesn't mind worrying about you, and that all he wants is for you to not make things harder for both yourself and him sometimes by doing silly things like going off on your own. And how he wishes that he’d been able to tell you how he was sure that in time his parents would like you as much as you’d clearly wanted them to. Yet in that moment all he’d managed to say was, “There’s no one else I want to be with,” because at the end of the day that was the bottom line. That was what he felt more than anything. And he’d felt emotional enough in any case by just saying that. For it had become more and more painfully evident to him that nothing he could say would be good enough to make you change your mind that day. And he’d wondered when things had gone from him worrying about you being dead in the lake to you breaking his heart. 

 

But that was what they’d indeed come to when you’d said, “Well maybe you should find someone then,” before you’d taken your hands away from his and swallowed. And he’d wanted to stop you, wanted to be able to say something profound that would make you realize that everything he’d said to you was true and that you didn't have to worry about them not being so. But nothing at all had escaped him, and so with folded arms you’d begun to make your way back to the cottage. 

 

And as you’d moved away from him he’d clambered to his feet, and it had been then, as the full weight of everything that you’d just said had begun to hit him that he’d begun to properly lose control of himself. And even though he’d fisted his hands to try and re-gain some control over himself that hadn't stopped the tears from spilling down his face faster than ever. That hadn't stopped the rattling and gasping sobs that had left his mouth. That hadn't stopped his shoulders and his whole body from beginning to shake from the effect of it all. And he’d both wished, as you’d got further and further away from him that you’d turn around and that you wouldn't. For he didn't want you to see him like this. And once again he’d wished that he could go after you and be able to say whatever words that he needed to, to get you to change your mind. 

 

But when you’d stopped halfway up the hill and begun to turn around his sobs had caught in his chest and he’d known, right then, that the thing he wished the most was that you could come back to him right then. And for you to have seen, at that moment, just how much you meant to him, and to not just leave him standing there. And as he’d seen you take a couple of steps forwards he’d felt like that, that was exactly what you were about to do. For of course you wouldn't just leave him there. How could you when you claimed to care about him? And he’d clenched his fists even tighter then to try and get some better control over himself so that by the time you came back to him he’d be ready to take you in his arms and to say so many things to you. To say that he loved you and that he’d do whatever it took to give you the type of relationship that you needed from him. Yet then you’d stopped and clenched your own fists. And then you’d done the unthinkable. For you’d turned around and walked away from him, and an incredulous, not to mention hurt little breath had left his lips at you doing so. And he’d known, what with you walking away from him like that, that it was over then, and that the relationship that he wanted to give you at that moment was not one you could return. And it had hurt. Christ, it had hurt so much. And even in the present now his heart feels heavy with both hurt and sadness as he thinks upon it. 

 

But in the past it had been like that final act from you had drained the last of his energy completely, and so he’d staggered around, before he’d slumped down into a sitting position upon the grass. Then, not caring at all that he was not supposed to be there, he’d just buried his head in his knees and cried, and his hands had tugged desperately at his hair as he’d done so. For why couldn't you understand how much you meant to him and why couldn't he get you to see such a thing? And he’d cried harder at the unfairness of it all for another moment, and the whole of his body had shaken as he’d done so, before he’d lifted his head hazily up off his knees and rubbed at his eyes with his arms. Then he’d let out a great big huff of breath, before he’d stared out across the lake. And he hadn't known how long he’d done so for. All he’d known was that the sky had seemed even duller and the air a little cooler by the time that it had finally occurred to him, in his hazy state, that he should probably start heading back soon to the cottage. For although he wasn't sure what time it was he felt sure that it probably wouldn't be that long before dinner, and as much as he had no appetite and as much as he didn't want to face anyone he knew that he had little choice in facing either thing. For Mummy would not accept that he wasn't hungry he knew and nor would she let him get away, before she’d given her opinion to him on the matter. He just hoped that both things would happen together so that after dinner he’d be able to hide in his room and not be disturbed for the rest of the night, leaving him to cry and think in peace. Then, with that hope in his head, he’d stood up in a wobbly fashion, before he’d cast one last look of uncertainty and disdain out across the lake. For even he’d appreciated its beauty once and been able to see why it had served as such a great attraction for his brother, but at that point all he’d been able to feel was the loss that he’d just experienced, whilst being there. So without any further ado he’d turned around and shoved his hands into his pockets as he’d slowly made his way back to the cottage with his head bowed. 

 

Yet he’d only just got to the top of the first hill when a loud voice had called, “There you are,” and jolted him out of the unhappy and miserable haze that he’d slipped back into. 

 

And when he’d looked up it had been to see Sherlock standing there. So, “Sherlock,” he’d breathed, for he hadn't had the energy to say anything else right then and nor had he seen the point in trying to cover up the fact that he’d just been crying when he was sure that it was more than obvious to his brother that he’d been doing so. 

 

But Sherlock had just stared at him and taken him in for a moment nonetheless. And then he’d just nodded and said in an even tone, “Mummy sent me out to fetch you, dinner’s going to ready in a minute.”

 

So Mycroft had nodded, before he and Sherlock had made to walk back to the cottage once more. But then, even though he’d felt sure that he’d already known the answer by that point he hadn't been able to help but ask, “Is F/N?”-

 

Yet, “She’s gone. Father took her to the station and she got a train to Brighton from there,” Sherlock had interrupted him curtly, and Mycroft hadn't been able to help but feel disappointed in spite of himself. For he’d known that, that would probably be the case but still a part of him had clung onto the slim hope that maybe you’d be back at the cottage after all. And that maybe he’d get a chance to talk to you again and to somehow try and sort out the mess that had somehow grown between you. 

 

It looked like that wouldn't be the case however, at least not for a while, and the thought had made Mycroft’s misery settle even more upon him. But then, ever the glutton for punishment, he hadn't been able to help but ask his brother, “Did she say anything about me, before she left?” with a fake sort of casualness that he knew Sherlock would be able to see quite easily through. 

 

And Sherlock had given him a bit of a calculating look for a moment. Then as he’d put his hands in his own pockets he’d replied, “You’d have to ask Father, she only came to see me briefly,” as he’d looked straight ahead and let out a little breath as they’d come to the top of the final hill and the cottage had been brought back into sight once more. 

 

Yet, _“Sherlock”-_ Mycroft had begun persistently, as both brothers had come to a momentary stop. 

 

So Sherlock had let out a bit of a huff, before he’d said, “I could tell that she’d broken up with you as soon as I saw her,” and Mycroft had shifted his position uncomfortably for a moment. 

 

Then, as he’d tried to ignore the fact that he now lived in such a reality, and in a world where you could break up with him so cruelly without even giving much of an explanation for doing so and when Mycroft felt like you’d barely even begun to give your relationship a proper chance, his face had grown even more serious when he’d asked his brother, “What exactly did F/N say to you?” 

 

So, “She supposed that yes she had just broken up with you, and then she told me that you were by the lake when I asked her where I could expect to find you. Then I said that I guessed that we wouldn't see each other again until university starts and she agreed,” Sherlock had told him matter-of-factly and Mycroft had swallowed. 

 

Then he’d asked in spite of himself, “And how did she seem to you?” 

 

And Sherlock had pulled a bit of a face for a moment as he’d considered that question. Then he’d shrugged, “Upset,” and, “Tired I guess,” before he’d paused. And then he’d looked at Mycroft even more intently for a moment, before he’d asked more softly, “What exactly happened between her and you?” 

 

And Mycroft had sighed for a moment. Then he’d breathed; “Honestly?” and Sherlock had nodded. So, “I don’t know,” Mycroft had confessed, because everything had been so fresh in his mind then and he’d not had a chance to properly comprehend it all. All he’d known was that you were gone and that everything seemed to have hurtled into oblivion, before he’d even been able to try and stop it. And then he’d let another breath, before he’d strode purposefully back towards the cottage. 

 

That time he hadn't stopped until he’d reached the back door. Then he’d just stilled and swallowed, before at the sound of Sherlock’s cautious footsteps, which had come from behind him he’d readied himself and pushed the door open. 

 

The first thing that he’d seen when he stepped inside had been Mummy, who had turned away from the table where she’d been setting the cutlery down and towards him instead. Then she’d just taken him in for a moment, before she’d shaken her head and tutted a little. And then, as if she’d already become resigned to seeing him as he was, which was no doubt with a rather strained, tense expression on his face, she’d told him, “Right, go and change out of those cold clothes and get yourself tidied up. You have five minutes.”

 

And Mycroft had half-expected Sherlock to say something waspish like how he thought it would take more than five minutes for Mycroft’s heart to heal. Something, which Mycroft would have agreed with if he had. But then when there had come nothing, just silence, and all he’d felt was both Mummy’s and Sherlock’s gazes on him he’d nodded, before he’d made to follow Mummy’s instructions automatically. 

 

And it hadn't been until he’d caught sight of himself as he’d been halfway through washing his face that he’d stopped again. Hadn't been until then that he’d understood why Mummy had looked at him like that. For his face was pale, starkly so, and there was a tension there, tight upon his face, whilst his eyes were red-rimmed and dull, the only vague spark there coming from the tears he’d shed so recently. And seeing himself like that had just increased the ache that he’d felt inside his heart. The ache that he’d felt for you, for himself and for the entire situation. The ache of a promise, of a hope, cut short. And he’d let out another sigh. Then he’d finished washing and drying his face, before he’d gone back to the kitchen. 

 

Everyone had already been in their places, everyone that was except you of course, so he’d just slipped into his chair wordlessly, before he’d begun to eat quickly, despite the fact that he wasn't hungry, just so that, for that moment at least, no one would expect him to talk. 

 

But even though his mind had been heavy with thought he hadn't been able to escape from the terse sort of silence that had encapsulated the room, and which trapped them all like insects in a cocoon. Not to mention the palpable tension that had hung in the air between them all. 

 

And of course it hadn't been long, before Mummy had sniffed, “Well, in my opinion, which I know counts for little around here,” and at that she’d paused for a moment in order to cast her husband a dark look, and it had suddenly occurred to Mycroft that his father probably hadn't made himself the most popular person with her when he’d taken you to the station. Then he’d listened as his mother had continued with a flourish, “You’re better off without her Mykie dear,” and Mycroft’s instant reaction to such words had been a strange thing. For although he’d known that Mummy would have to make her view heard at some point, and that it probably wouldn't be one that he agreed with, he’d expected to be able to deal with it in quite an offhand fashion when the time came. Expected to be able to just swallow it all back down and suppress it all like he usually did with things. What he hadn't expected was for his hands to clench automatically tighter around his cutlery or for an odd, crushing feeling of irritation to wash over him so completely until he’d felt so affected by it that he’d had to push his plate aside and get up without any further ado. 

 

Yet he’d only had a chance to give Mummy a bit of a serious, calculating look and to turn around as soon as tears had begun to waver in his eyes, before Mummy had said, “Mycroft?” in a bit of an offended and taken aback way. 

 

So Mycroft had stiffened and huffed out a bit of a breath, before he’d reluctantly turned around. Then he’d fixed his gaze carefully onto that of his mother’s, before he’d said, “I'm afraid that I'm not very hungry Mummy,” in a weary yet matter-of-fact tone.

 

And for a moment Mummy had just opened and closed her mouth a little helplessly. No doubt shocked at her eldest son behaving in such a manner when it was usually Sherlock who subjected her to such things. Then, at an evident loss, she’d pointed out, “But you've barely touched it.” 

 

So Mycroft had swallowed and shifted his position a little again, before he’d replied, “Yes, well, that be as it may I don’t wish to have any more,” and then without any further ado he’d turned around and begun to make his way out of the room. 

 

But then he’d heard Mummy mutter, “Well I never,” before she’d promptly pointed out, “ _See?_ That’s _exactly_ the sort of behaviour, which makes me glad that, that girl’s finally gone.”

 

And Mycroft had stopped dead, before he’d let out a long sort of breath. Then, with his eyes blazing, he’d spun around on his heel, locked eyes with Mummy again, who once more had been staring at him with astonishment and with her lips slightly parted. And then, with his fists clenched, he’d announced, “That _girl_ has a name. She’s called F/N L/N, and I don’t know quite what’s going on with her at the moment but I can assure you that whether we’re together or not right now we will be at some point in the future,” and then he’d paused for a moment and breathed hard, before he’d concluded with a flourish, “So, with that being said, you should expect to see more of her, and when you do, I’d appreciate it if you could be more welcoming because she’s always been a better person than you seem to think she has.” And then, half-aware of his mother’s wide eyes, his father’s raised eyebrows and the way that Sherlock had been goggling at him, completely stunned with his fork half-raised to his mouth he’d said, “You might want to put that fork back down brother dear, you’re in danger of poking yourself in the eye with it if you continue to hold it at that angle,” before he’d turned back around and marched to his room, and he’d felt both a sense of great accomplishment at standing up to his mother and a sense of irritation with her and the whole situation as he’d done so. 

 

Then he’d flung himself down on his bed, before he’d shifted so that he’d been sitting with his back against his headboard. And it had been in that position, as he silently fumed and mused about everything, that Father had found him in when he’d come into the room shortly after dinner. So for a moment, still in deep thought, Mycroft had just waited for him to make his way across and sit gingerly down onto the bed. Then he’d swallowed, before he’d shifted his own position so that he’d been sat next to Father with his feet firmly planted on the floor. And an apprehensive sort of silence had hung between the pair of them for a moment, whilst Mycroft had braced himself to be told off about speaking to his mother in such a way and as Father had no doubt tried to settle his mind upon which words he should introduce to the air, before Father had reached across to pat Mycroft on the knee. 

 

So, as he’d wanted to get what would surely be an uncomfortable experience over with, Mycroft had asked, “You’re going to tell me that I shouldn't have spoken to Mummy that way aren't you?” 

 

And Father had let out an exasperated kind of chuckle for a moment. Then he’d shaken his head a little, before he’d said, “I don’t think it was wise or right for you to speak to her in such a way no, but that isn't why I've come to speak to you now,” and then there’d been a little pause in which Mycroft had half-looked at Father as he’d held his breath and Father had turned his head to look at him properly. And then Father had gone on, “I've come to speak to you about F/N,” and Mycroft had let out the breath that he’d been holding. Then he’d wriggled a little uncomfortably on the bed and his hands had fidgeted together because he wasn't sure that he was ready to have a conversation about you with anyone yet. But before he’d had a chance to perhaps get such a thing across Father had begun, “For what it’s worth,” before he’d continued, “I think F/N was just as upset to leave you as you are for her to have left,” and Mycroft had just nodded for a moment. 

 

Yet then he’d found himself blurting out, “Sometimes I just don’t know what to do,” and then when Father had looked at him more concernedly he’d gone on, “I don’t know what to do for the best.” And then he’d closed his mouth for a moment, opened it, and then closed it again in frustration when he still hadn't been able to find the right words. Then, after another moment’s thought and an encouraging pat on his leg from Father he’d got out, “I try to be there for her, I try to show her that I care, but”- and he’d broken off then and run a frustrated hand back through his hair as he’d begun to feel more emotional. And Father’s hand had squeezed his leg hard, so Mycroft had swallowed and tried to get himself back under control. But a couple of tears had escaped his eyes, before he’d been able to stop them, and so he’d wiped them away quickly with the back of his hand. Yet more had fallen and he hadn't been able to stop them. Just like he hadn't been able to stop the sobs from rising up within him and bursting out of his lips. And so his father had pulled him towards him instinctively and Mycroft had bowed his head and buried it against his father’s shoulder. Then for several long moments he’d just cried and Father had held him there with one steadying hand to his back. 

 

Then he’d leaned back and rubbed at his eyes with his hands, before he’d mumbled a rather embarrassed kind of, “Sorry.”

 

But, “Don’t ever apologize for being human Mycroft,” Father had told him just a moment later in a firm but gentle tone, so Mycroft had nodded. Then, “Tell me,” Father had started a little more cautiously a moment later and Mycroft had turned his head to look at him, before he’d listened as Father had gone on, “If you could have a really good relationship with F/N, and a really fulfilling one, then what would it look like? What would it consist of?” 

 

And Mycroft had looked away as he’d thought about the matter for a moment. Then he’d looked back to his father and bitten at his lip as he’d done so, before he’d concluded, “It would be one where I could take care of her and she wouldn't mind it, one where she lets me in and one where she feels like she can talk me…” and he’d sounded rather wistful as he’d done so. 

 

And Edwin had taken a moment to think about his son’s words. Then he’d asked, “And why don’t you think she can let you in at the moment?” 

 

And Mycroft had shifted his position a little awkwardly for a moment, before when he’d thought about it he’d supposed that it came down to everything that had happened in your past. But how could he get that sense of things across to Father without actually telling him about everything that you’d been through? How could he get across the deep sense of pain and shame that had caused you to shut yourself off for so long? And which still made you do so? 

 

Yet, no doubt sensing that it was hard for Mycroft to explain such things Edwin had asked another question. This time, “Has she always been this way since you met her?”

 

So Mycroft, again not knowing how to respond to that, had tangled a hand through his hair for a moment. Then, as he’d gone back to the very start in his mind, back to that first breakfast and remembered how even then there’d been a bit of an edge to your tone when you’d discussed your past, as if part of you had even then wished that you’d landed at the university, newly born and free from everything, he’d concluded, “Yes, I suppose she has.”

 

And Father had nodded and let out a small sigh for a moment as if he’d thought just as much. Then he’d voiced, “Perhaps, in that case, as harsh as it might seem to you, even with you being a good friend to her she needs to first make more progress with herself, before she can feel secure enough to open herself up to you.”

 

And Mycroft had frowned a little as he’d considered that, before he’d protested, “But why won’t she even let me help her get to that point?” Yet before Father had even been able to do more than part his lips Mycroft had gone on, “If she just started opening up to me a little more, just for a few minutes at a time, or as much as she could manage in one go, then at least she wouldn't be having to deal with so much on her own,” and Father had sighed. 

 

Then he’d taken his son’s hand in his own and squeezed it for a small moment, before he’d said sadly, “That might _be_ the point though Mycroft,” and Mycroft had looked at him questioningly so Edwin had gone on, “For the moment at least perhaps the truth is that she _can’t_ manage to let you in at all.” And then at Mycroft’s crestfallen expression he’d continued, “Think about it,” and, “If you say that she’s been that way since you've met her then the fact may be that even if she wants to change and open herself up more to you then she might just not have the ability to do so right now.” 

 

And still Mycroft had felt at a loss, “So what are you saying I should do?” he’d asked then. 

 

And again Edwin had taken a moment to contemplate, before he’d said, “I think that you should make it clear to her that you still care for her and that you’re still going to be there for her if she’d ever like to talk to you about something, but I think, above all, the wisest thing that you could do right now would be to give her some space to work on herself”-

 

And, “So you don’t think that I should go after her?” Mycroft had asked, for even though too much had happened that day for him to have taken it all in by that point, let alone to make a plan of how best to proceed, he was aware enough to recognize that deep down he’d already been resigning himself to the idea of going after you again. 

 

But Father had shaken his head, and then he’d said, “No,” before he’d added, “I don’t properly know what happened between you and F/N today, and just like I told her I don’t expect you to tell me, but the way that she left makes me think that, even if she did so in a way that was hurtful to you, part of her recognized that she needed to be away somewhere on her own right now,” and Mycroft had swallowed then and shifted again because the idea of you being alone and hurting had not sat well with him. 

 

And so in the end he’d said, “I still want to talk to her though.” 

 

And Father had nodded as if he’d expected his son to say just as much, before he’d said, “That’s fair enough,” reasonably. 

 

But although he’d felt a little encouraged by his father’s words Mycroft had still felt far from settled about the whole thing. And one issue in particular had made him feel uneasy. So in the end, after another moment of shifting his position and contemplating, he’d asked, “You don’t think she left because of me?” and Father had looked at him then. But before he’d been able to ask _why_ Mycroft might think such a thing his son had confessed, “She seemed to suggest that my way of being there for her was making her feel trapped,” and then he’d added, “I believe she used the word _‘suffocated,’_ too,” which had made Father sigh again. 

 

And then, “Well this is new to you Mycroft, being with someone in this way, so you’re bound to make some mistakes”- Father had begun reasonably in a bit of a gruff tone. 

 

“But it’s not just that though,” Mycroft had exclaimed with his voice full of frustration. And he’d run another hand back through his hair, before he’d gone on huffily, “Sometimes she seems to know exactly what to do in these situations and I just end up feeling like a fool because I have no idea of what to do myself!” 

 

And, “For example?” Father had asked him in as casual a tone as he’d been able to manage. 

 

So Mycroft had shifted awkwardly again and huffed out another breath, before he’d had the courage to reply, “When we went to town I took her by the cliffs and we had the picnic that you helped me pack there, and when we’d eaten and we were just sitting there she moved so that her head was resting on my shoulder and I had no idea what I was supposed to do in return, or what she expected from me,” in one great breath. Then he’d shifted a little again, before he’d confessed, “So in the end, when my eyes fell upon the grapes that were still left I ended up feeding her one. But then she wanted another one and, oh _God_ , Father, I was such an idiot,” and Mycroft had raised a hand dramatically to his face then, before he’d gone on, “I couldn't even get the grape off its stem and she must have thought, well _God_ knows what she must have thought, but anyway, she had to do it in the end and feed it to me instead because I’d messed everything up.”

 

“Then perhaps that’s something you should be honest about with her,” Father had suggested, before when Mycroft had looked at him a little incredulously as if he’d just gone mad he’d said, “But no, to answer your earlier question, I don’t think she left because of your uncertainty. I think she left because she knew that she had to and because she cares about you too much.” And he’d let those last words linger in the air for a moment, before as Mycroft had looked at him, that time with a curious expression on his face, he’d gone on, “She barely said a word when I took her to the station, but she didn't need to for me to be able to tell that she cares for you very deeply and that she doesn't want to hurt you”-

 

“But she _did_ hurt me,” Mycroft had interrupted, before he’d exclaimed, “She said that I should be with someone else, when she knows,” and he’d gestured with his hand then as his lip had begun to tremble, “When she _knows_ ”- and as he’d flung up his hand into the air again at that point Father had caught it and squeezed it hard as he’d lowered it back down to hold it against Mycroft’s leg. 

 

Then, “You know what I think she was being today?” Father had asked him with a quiet kind of urgency as if he’d been desperate for Mycroft to understand the point that he’d been making as his son had looked at him once more. “I think she was being brave,” he’d revealed, and then as Mycroft had nodded a little as tears had wavered in his eyes and his lip had trembled he’d just squeezed his son’s hand even more tightly for a moment, before he’d concluded, “I think she was being brave because she knew that she couldn't avoid hurting you but she knew that she’d hurt you even more by staying.”

 

And, “I love her”- Mycroft had blurted out as he’d stared at his father out of desperate eyes. 

 

Yet, “I know, I know you do,” Father had told him, and he’d held his son’s hand with both of his hands then.

 

But still it hadn't stopped Mycroft’s body from shaking and still it hadn't stopped tears from spilling down his face or from him confessing, “I love her, but I don’t know what to do,” in an agonizing fashion. 

 

So, “You are going to,” Father had said, “As I have said, be there for her when she needs you to be and give her some space when she does not”-

 

But, “I want to do more than that Father, I want to help her,” Mycroft had protested. For he couldn't bear to just sit there and wait for you to finish torturing yourself mentally if he could be there for you more fully. Couldn't bear the idea that there was something more that he could be doing for you. 

 

And Father had thought long and hard about the matter for a moment. Then he’d concluded, “There might be something that you can do,” and then when Mycroft had looked at him with some hope in his eyes he’d got up and left the room. 

 

He’d returned just a moment later, carrying a single business card, which he’d handed to Mycroft. 

 

And Mycroft had opened his mouth in surprise when he’d seen it. 

 

Whilst in the present he now fingers where he’s put the card in the pocket of his dark trousers as wonders what your reaction will be to it. 

 

But after supplying him with a few further details and the words, “It might help,” Father had left the ultimate decision of whether or not to show you the card up to him. 

 

And Mycroft had pondered over such an issue that night, before deciding that if his father was right and that it might bring some comfort to you then he really had no choice in the matter. Still he’d decided to wait until he could physically give you the card and better explain about the reasoning behind him doing so. For he sensed that had he tried to breach such a matter on the phone you would have run a mile. Yet that hadn't stopped him from asking Father to make you a first appointment just in case that you should take it up, and even though Father had protested that it might be better to give you space to do such a thing yourself once he’d seen that Mycroft was determined he’d relented and made the call to do so. 

 

It wasn't though, he thinks both wryly and despairingly in the present now, like he’d had much choice about how to tell you in the end though. For he hadn't had much luck in the phoning you department. He’d tried to call you, first that following morning after you’d gone and then again a couple of times at various points throughout the day, but you’d never picked up. And he’d even ended up texting you the words: **F/N? I know that you might not wish to speak to me but could you, at the very least, just send me a text back so that I know you’re okay?** Yet still you hadn't done so. 

 

And in the end it had been Molly who had put him out of his misery regarding that matter. Molly who’d phoned on your behalf… 

 

It had been a couple of days after you’d left and Mycroft had still been feeling rather miserable about it all when his phone had vibrated inside his trouser pocket, which was where he’d taken to keeping it ever since you’d left. And at first, once he’d gotten it out hurriedly, he’d thought that it might be you, calling from a different phone because he hadn't recognized the number. So he’d got up from where he’d been sitting in the living room at once and made his way towards his room, answering the call with slightly trembling fingers as he went. 

 

Then, _“F/N?”_ he’d said with a sort of breathless eagerness, whilst a million jumbled thoughts had run through his head about what he should say to you first. 

 

But there had just been a prominent sort of pause on the line, before someone had said the words, “It’s me Mycroft,” and Mycroft’s heart had tumbled down inside him at once. For it hadn't been you but Molly. 

 

So, “Oh, hello Molly,” he’d replied politely but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm all the same. 

 

And Molly had sounded sympathetic towards him as she’d said rather awkwardly, “Yes, listen Mycroft, F/N’s been in touch and she-she gave me your number because she wanted you to know that she’s fine but she erm”-

 

“She doesn't feel like talking to me herself?” Mycroft had guessed, and he’d felt even more miserable with that knowledge. 

 

So, “Yes, no, well,” Molly had begun quickly in a very contradictory fashion, before she’d confessed rather sadly, “It’s not just you, I don’t think she feels like talking to anyone right now actually.”

 

And Mycroft had swallowed and just taken that in for a moment. For what Molly had said might be true but the fact that you’d still spoken a little bit, at the very least to her, hadn't escaped him. Then he’d said in a bit of a stiff fashion, “I suppose she’s told you though what occurred between us?” and there had been a distinct edge to his voice as he’d done so. 

 

And there had been another rather awkward silence on the line, before Molly had gone on, “Yes, well, bits of it,” and she’d sounded a little flustered as she’d done so. But then she’d sounded more confident when she’d told him, “She’s not getting at you, you know?” 

 

Yet, “Isn't she?” Mycroft hadn't been able to help but question in a rather dry tone, for that had certainly been what it had felt like. For you leaving had been bad enough, but the way that you weren't even getting in touch with him at all had just made him feel even worse. And even now, in the present, he can’t understand such a thing. 

 

But in the past Molly had told him, “No, of course she isn't,” firmly a moment later, before she’d attempted to reason with him when she’d said, “I think she just needs a bit more space than what we’d first envisaged she would that’s all.”

 

Yet Mycroft had simply huffed out a bit of a frustrated breath at that, before he’d confessed, “I just don’t get why she would insist on shutting herself off still when she doesn't have to any more, when she’s got so many people around her now who could help her if she’d just let them,” and the, ‘Not when she’s got me,’ had been left unsaid, though Mycroft had felt sure that Molly would understand what he was ultimately getting at. 

 

And Molly had let out a bit of an understanding sigh then, before she’d said with some sympathy in her tone, “I know it’s hard to understand, but I think part of it is because she’s never had friends like us before, friends who are willing to be there for her no matter what, and I don’t think she quite knows what to do now she has.”

 

And Mycroft had mulled over her words for a moment, before he’d confessed, “Father said something similar,” and, “He said that because F/N’s not used to letting people in she’ll have to make more progress with herself first, before she can do so,” and Molly had let out a bit of a relieved sigh as he’d finished. 

 

Then, “You know what Mycroft?” she’d begun, before she’d concluded, “Your father sounds like a very wise man,” and Mycroft had smiled for the briefest of moments. 

 

But then he’d asked, “Could you pass a message to F/N for me?” 

 

And Molly had let out a bit of a sharp breath, before she’d blurted out, “Of course, of course I can Mycroft,” and her voice had been so full of sympathy for him that it had made Mycroft feel rather uncomfortable. 

 

Then he’d wished that things hadn't been the way they were, before he’d gone on both slowly and consideringly, “Could you tell her that I-that I'm always here for her if she wants to talk about anything, and that, if she just wants to ring me or-or something then I’d be very happy to hear from her,” and by the end of his words his throat had felt tight with emotion. 

 

And Molly too had sounded emotional when, after a brief pause, she’d got out the words, “Yes, yes I’ll be sure to tell her that.”

 

So, “Thank you,” Mycroft had told her sincerely, before he’d gone on a little more awkwardly, “Um, could you do me another favour too?”

 

And, “Probably,” Molly had concurred, and though Mycroft hadn't been able to see her he’d felt sure that she had been smiling. 

 

So without any further ado he’d gone on, “Could you just call or text me after every time you speak to her, just to let me know that she’s all right?” 

 

And again there had been another pause, before Molly had sniffed, “Yes, yes of course I can do that.”

 

So, “Thank you,” Mycroft had told her again. 

 

And then there had been a rather awkward silence as neither of them had known what to say to each other, before finally Molly had concluded, “Right, well, I better go then.”

 

So, “Goodnight,” Mycroft had told her politely, before he’d disconnected the call a moment later, whilst sadness and misery had swirled inside him. 

 

Yet he hadn't had much time to dwell on Molly’s words and think over the new developments, which had occurred because Gregory had phoned him just ten minutes later. No doubt having been told to do so by Molly. 

 

And though their conversation had only touched upon the mess of Mycroft’s relationship with you briefly, before it had drifted onto safer topics like Gregory’s recent trip to France, Mycroft had finally gathered enough courage and grown comfortable enough to ask, “Do you ever not know what to do when you’re with Molly?” 

 

And, “All the time mate,” Gregory had said, and he’d sounded as if the question had amused him, which had made Mycroft let out the tentative breath that he’d been holding in relief. Then Gregory had let out a bit of a thoughtful chuckle, before he’d gone on, “Yeah, Molly’s great, but sometimes I just think, ‘Hang on, is she actually going out with me?’” and Mycroft had smiled a little at that in spite of himself. Then he’d listened as Gregory had gone on, “And then I remember that yeah she is and it’s just like”- and as Gregory had broken off Mycroft had imagined him fist pumping the air or something equally as jovial as he perhaps lied on his bed with a silly smile on his face, and Mycroft had smiled a little again himself at the image, but this time it had been in a significantly more bitter-sweet fashion. For how he wished that he could be having such inconsequential moments with you. Yet then, as if he’d just realized how he might have made Mycroft feel, Gregory had said, “Listen mate,” in a more serious tone, and Mycroft had been able to hear the rustling of something down the line as if Gregory had just pulled himself into a sitting position as he’d said those words. Then, “I don’t know exactly what’s going on with F/N right now,” he’d gone on, before he’d added, “Molly tried to do some psycho-analysis of it to me, but yeah…” and then as Mycroft had let out a bit of a snort without being able to help himself at that Gregory had asked, “Did she do the same with you?” and he’d sounded as if he would be most delighted if that were the case. 

 

So, “Yes she did,” Mycroft had confirmed softly, glad that he could at least make Gregory happy at any rate. 

 

And Gregory had sounded as if he’d been grinning as he’d said the words, “Women can be so strange can’t they?” in a fond fashion. 

 

And, “Mmm,” had been all that Mycroft had got out as his mind had gone to you and your odd ways again. 

 

Then Gregory, sensing where Mycroft’s mind had gone, had tried to reassure his friend when he’d said, “But all I know is that, no matter how long it takes, there will be a time when you’ll be going out with her again and I’ll be walking into rooms and feeling slightly sick because you won’t be able to keep your hands off each other”-

 

And, _“Gregory!”_ Mycroft had admonished, though he hadn't been able to help but feel pleased too at Gregory’s words. 

 

And Gregory, as if he’d known such a thing, had let out a bit of a laugh then, before he’d gone on more seriously, “So just hold on to that all right? No matter what shit comes your way in the meantime.”

 

And so, in spite of himself, Mycroft had come off the phone feeling a little more optimistic about things. And despite the fact that he hadn't heard from you at all, something which had made him feel particularly miserable whenever he’d dwelled on it, which had been something that he’d done so often, he had felt grateful for the way that both Gregory and Molly had called him, and for the way that Molly had kept her promise and confirmed that you were all right whenever he spoke to her. Whilst he’d felt happy to hear from Molly that you’d passed your exams and made it into your second year of university, albeit by the skin of your teeth, even though you’d seemed to think, according to Molly anyway, that you’d have to be a lot more focused and work a lot harder in the coming year. 

 

But now that had all passed and now he’s on the train and hurtling towards you and he has no idea of how you’ll react when you see him. All he hopes is that you won’t try and hide from him any more and that you’ll both be able to have a mature conversation about everything and that even if you don’t open up with him completely that you’ll give him enough to go on so he’ll feel like he knows where he stands. For if you don’t even give him that much then he feels like living with you and seeing you on such a regular basis but with a division between you will soon prove nigh on impossible for him to put up with. And the darkest vision he has-aside from you never opening up to him or getting hurt again of course-is that of him having to move out because he simply can’t put up with it all, or because you can’t put up with it all. For he would never make you move out of course. You love the house too much and he’s not about to take that stability away from you. Not when he gets the distinct impression that you need anything that you can to cling on to right now. So, he supposes as he lets out another sigh, that he’ll just have to monitor the situation carefully, and then if he becomes aware that him being there isn't good for you-something which he hates to think about happening, for if it did then it would be like just another step backwards-then he’ll just have to bite the bullet and find somewhere else to live. 

 

And it’s with such feelings of uncertainty that he ends up leaving the train, and they are a constant thing that linger in the background as Sherlock and he shuffle along with all their things back to the house. 

 

They’re greeted at the door by Molly and Gregory, both of whom returned at some stage during the previous day, and who help pull everything inside, before they offer them both welcoming hugs, something which Mycroft accepts with a stiff sort of politeness, for his mind has gone to you again. Not to mention the fact that you hadn't come to the door to greet him. Sherlock however has no such qualms about being impolite and he squirms away from Molly’s outstretched arms, before he shakes his head fervently and says something about how he doesn't like being touched, to which Mycroft’s pretty sure that he hears Gregory respond with something crude about John, before Sherlock goes on to mutter something about taking his things upstairs so that he can hurry off to see said boyfriend. 

 

Then once Sherlock’s disappeared upstairs with all his things and Mycroft’s just left there surrounded by his own possessions and with both Gregory and Molly taking him in concernedly, Molly grasps hold of his arm lightly for a moment, before she says in the tone of someone who’s in the midst of mourning, “F/N’s in the dining room if you want to talk to her.”

 

And Mycroft does of course, no matter how hard it will be, so he just swallows and nods at them gratefully for a moment as they give him encouraging sort of smiles, before they retreat into the living room. Then he grabs hold of all his things again, before he makes his way down the hallway towards the dining room. 

 

He hardly makes a silent entrance with all his bags banging against his legs, causing him to let out little gasps, but you only look up at him briefly from where you’re sat by the table, before your body stiffens and you look down at the cup of tea that’s in between your hands again. 

 

So, feeling tense himself, Mycroft mutters, “F/N,” with a bit of a polite nod to you. 

 

And you swallow visibly, before your eyes dart up quickly again as you say a quick, “Hi.” Yet you look down just as quickly, and how his heart sinks as you do so, for what with you behaving this way he feels like he’s gone back to the start where he barely knew you and when he was trying to figure out what Moriarty meant to you. And he can’t help but think, with a heavy heart, that although he might know a bit more about you he doesn't really, not when it comes down to it, know that much at all. 

 

And such thoughts make him bite at his lip and give you one last considering look, before he makes his mind up and drags all his things to his room. Then he drops everything by his bed so that he can sort it all out later, before he checks his appearance in the mirror, runs a quick hand through his breeze-tousled hair, makes sure that he’s still got the card in his pocket and then goes back into the dining room again. 

 

Once more he sees you stiffen as he does so, so deciding that he can’t have the conversation that he needs to have with you without a cup of tea, he goes to make himself one. You seem to relax a little as he does so but he can tell that you’re still on guard and that you’re still expecting him to say something. 

 

And feeling a little irritated about how apprehensive you seem to be about him doing so he finally huffs out, “Are we going to talk about this or are you just going to carry on ignoring me?” as he walks towards you with his cup of tea in his hands. 

 

Yet he can tell that it was the wrong thing for him to say at once for your eyes flash at once and when you look up at him your gaze is dark as you protest, “I haven’t been ignoring you, I got Molly”-

 

“Ah yes you _‘got’_ Molly to speak to me instead of speaking to me yourself,” he interrupts you without being able to help it, and you throw him yet another dark, piercing look, before you look down rather sulkily at your tea, clearly being unable to protest because of the truth of his words. 

 

So he huffs out another breath, before he mutters, “I wish you’d just have called me once, or at the very least texted me,” and then he places his tea down on to the table, before he sits down beside you. Then he protests, “If it hadn't been for Molly then I wouldn't have even known that you were all right,” and he can’t help but ask, “Where on earth was the harm in telling me such a thing?” with a bit of a sigh, as he looks at you rather desperately now. 

 

And finally you look up at him rather reluctantly, and as your e/c eyes finally meet his you get out, “I'm sorry,” before you try to explain, “I know I should have, I _just_ …” 

 

So, “I still want to be with you, do you realize that?” he tells you now as he takes your hand in his upon the table, before he goes on, “I still want to be with you even though the way you act makes me so mad sometimes. Even though it drives me absolutely _crazy_ , there’s no one else that I want to be with.” And then in the next moment it’s not the way that you look at him with a tentative kind of smile, but rather the blush that’s on your face as you do so that makes him go on, “I know you might not be ready for that sort of relationship yet, and that’s fine, but if you did ever want us to try again then I’d be more than happy for us to do so.” Yet when you get this troubled kind of look on your face as if you’re doubting everything again he just squeezes at your hand with his long fingers for a moment, before he tells you, “I meant what I said before, and what I said just now, there’s no one else that I want to be with F/N.” For he’s starting to conclude that with you he might have to say things, particularly when they consider his own feelings, several times to you just for them to sink in. And then, as you continue to look uncertain, remembering about how you need some space, he gives your hand one last comforting squeeze, before he lets go of it and moves his hand so that he can pick up his tea. Then he sips at it for a moment and looks at you over the rim of his cup the whole time as he does so, before he asks you, “How was Brighton?” in a caring yet conversational fashion, and then puts the cup back down on the table. 

 

And you give him a bit of a shrug, which makes him frown in concern, before you say, “Oh it was okay, I managed to convince Evie, my old friend”- and Mycroft’s ears prick up now at this new name, before he listens to you again as you go on, “To let me stay with her again and then I got a part-time job as a waitress at this café, which is close to the sea.” Yet even though you try to keep your voice light and indifferent he can tell that you’d had an absolutely awful time there. But then he thinks that he hadn't exactly had a spectacular time without you over the summer either. 

 

Yet he still prioritizes your bad summer over his own when he asks you, “The nightmares?” 

 

So, “They’re still happening,” you tell him, again in a bit of an indifferent, evasive tone. 

 

And he can’t help but breathe out, “I wish you’d just let me in F/N,” and your head jerks up to look at him more properly and his heart pangs when he sees that your eyes are wide and tear-filled as you do so, and he senses that there’s more to your current emotion than any fear that you might have about having this conversation with him, and again he feels frustrated at the fact that until you let him in he’ll be at a loss to know exactly what it is.

 

But, “It’s not that simple,” you tell him as you fold your arms.

 

And, “Yes, I think I'm getting that more now,” Mycroft replies in more of an icy tone, for why won’t you at the very least; just try to let him in? 

 

But in the next moment you cry out, “Don’t be disappointed with me, please don’t be disappointed with me, I-I can’t bear it,” as you wave a hand at him, before it flutters back to your lap as you finish speaking. 

 

And again he wonders what’s going through your mind, for you to come out with such an erratic statement. So after he looks at you rather calculatingly for a moment as his brow furrows he tells you, “I'm not,” before he goes on, “I just wish that you’d let me look after you more than you do sometimes and tell me when I do something wrong because I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours half the time and I…I just want to help you F/N,” as he looks at you out of desperate eyes. For maybe if he’s more honest with you, you’ll open up with him more in turn. 

 

Yet tears just waver in your eyes for a moment, before you look back down again. Then you look at him and bite at your lip, before you get out, “I was horrible to you by the lake,” and the way that you say it sounds almost questioning and as if you’re not quite sure what he’s going to make of your words. 

 

And indeed Mycroft _isn't_ sure what to say, so he just swallows for a moment. Then he decides to be honest with you when he blurts out, “Yes you were,” in a rather heavy fashion. And you let out a bit of a watery gasp so he takes your hand in his again. Then he strokes it with the pad of his thumb for several long moments, before he says, “Which again is why I wish that you’d just tell me if I'm doing something wrong at the time that I do it, instead of you letting it build up inside you like that,” and you let out a bit of a breath at that point. “But I know,” he goes on after taking a bit of a breath of his own, “That, that’s something you find difficult to do. So,” and now his free hand moves to take the card out from his pocket, before he goes on, “For a little while at least it might help if you were to try something different,” and he lays the card out in front of you now. 

 

Yet, “You want me to go and see a counsellor? You think I'm”- is your instant reaction, just as Mycroft had worried it might be, and then you fling out your hand from underneath his as if he’s just burnt you, before you push your chair back, causing it to screech as you do so, and then get to your feet. 

 

And Mycroft hurries to his own feet now, before he reaches out a placating hand towards you and says, “F/N please, _please_ just listen to me, I don’t think you’re crazy,” and then, “Really I don’t,” he adds as you look at him in both a disbelieving and hurt fashion. Then he goes on more steadily, “I just think that if you don’t feel like you can talk to people that you know right now then you might feel more comfortable talking to someone you don’t.” Yet you simply fold your arms and take a step back from him so he states, “It was Father’s idea”- a little desperately with a wave of his hands. 

 

But, “Oh great, so _he_ thinks I'm crazy now,” you get out before he can finish, and then, “There I was thinking that he liked me,” you add bitterly. And if the situation hadn't been so serious then Mycroft might have laughed, for had you heard yourself recently? 

 

But it is serious, so, “He _does_ like you,” Mycroft begins, before he goes on with some exasperation in his tone, “And he’s been nothing but supportive towards our relationship, and I know that Mummy’s a bit more difficult but I'm sure”- yet you snort in disbelief then so he breaks off. 

 

Then, “I don’t think she’ll _ever_ be supportive of our relationship,” you tell him so he just huffs out another frustrated breath. 

 

But then his eyes catch sight of the card on the table again so he tries to get back on track when he asks you, “Will you at least consider going there?” before he adds, “Father’s booked you a slot on Thursday if you want it and the first session’s free so you've really got nothing to lose by going.” And then when he sees that you’re still not certain about the whole thing he goes to stand in front of you, before he takes your hands reassuringly in his. And then he tells you honestly but a little pleadingly too, “I want to make this work F/N. I want to have a really wonderful relationship with you, but it’s not going to work and it’s not going to be wonderful unless we both try to make it so. And that means you working out a way of letting me in more and me adjusting to exactly what it is that you need from me and when you need it.” 

 

And you swallow. Then you just stare at him long and hard for a moment, before finally you nod and relent grudgingly, “ _Fine_ , I’ll try it.” Yet as soon as Mycroft smiles and his face becomes full of relief you tell him warningly, “But if it doesn't work then you’ll have to accept that, _and_ you’ll have to give me more information about the price too because”-

 

But, “It says on the card that a suitable rate can be worked out depending on individual circumstance,” Mycroft interrupts you, and so you nod, and you can’t help but smile a little in spite of yourself at his enthusiasm. Then Mycroft squeezes your hands and looks deeply into your eyes for a moment, before he asks you, “So is it a deal then? We’ll just be friends, whilst we get ourselves sorted out more?” 

 

And you just stare back at him for a moment. Then slowly you nod and breathe out, “Yes, I think that will be the best thing for now.” But even so that doesn't stop you from hugging him quickly in the next moment, or stop your head from feeling a little light because of the close contact as you whisper in his ear, “Thank you,” and he feels both pleased and more reassured as you do so. For all this is a start at least and hopefully it will get you both on track once more. Not to mention in each other’s arms again… 

 

*

 

University starts back up in its usual full-speed ahead fashion and so you don’t have much time to dwell on the matter of Thursday’s appointment too much, aside from the time that you’re lying awake at night of course either pre or post nightmare. And it’s at that time that you usually end up wondering if talking to a stranger will really help, and if it will really be something that you’ll find easier to do. And it’s interesting how your thoughts tend to differ depending on which one of these times it is. For pre-nightmare you often find yourself trying to be optimistic about it, whilst post-nightmare you often find darker and more negative, dismissive thoughts filling your head. And sometimes post-nightmare you even find yourself wondering if you should just rip up the card, bin it and forget about the appointment altogether. But then Mycroft’s pleading and hopeful face always enters your head so you never do.

 

* 

 

Your appointment on Thursday is at ten o’ clock in the morning and so the last time you see Mycroft before it is at breakfast where he wishes you a ‘Good luck,’ and says that he hopes it will be something that will help you. Something that makes Sherlock roll his eyes, though you all find yourselves rolling your eyes at him just a moment later when he announces that he’s got to go or he’ll be late meeting John. Whilst Greg and Molly just exchange a bit of a serious look with each other at Mycroft’s words and the mention of your appointment. 

 

Then all too soon you find yourself sitting in a cream and white room and sitting on the edge of a black chair as your clammy hands fidget together nervously, and you’re too nervous to even glance at the rather crumpled magazines that are splayed out on a low coffee table beside you, let alone to attempt to read any of them. 

 

But then a pretty woman who’s smartly dressed with her dark hair tied up in a long ponytail steps out of the door, which you know that you’ll need to go through for your appointment, before she casts a sweeping look around the room. And then her gaze fixes on you, before she says the ominous words, “Dr. Magnussen will see you now.”


End file.
